#it's time to shift into good omens mode

[pithyrhyme]

so who's ready the Good Omens panel today?

[charlesemersonwinchesteriii]

[opens-up-4-nobody]

...

[13atoms]

Airplane Mode (Spencer Reid x Reader)

A quick blurb about Spencer Reid and his SO finally getting a resort vacation! (Or holiday, because I’m a Brit and saying vacation feels weird). Insp by the slightly weird holiday I’m currently on lol | 1k fluff

Holidays were a bad omen for the BAU. Like complaining a night shift in a hospital is too quiet, or that it hasn’t rained in a while. Holidays meant something was bound to go wrong. So you’d waited until the very last minute to book the flights. Packed your suitcases two hours before leaving for the airport.

You hadn’t allowed yourself to be excited to go away, or even to tell many friends you’d be on holiday.

The louder you said it, the more likely it was that Spencer would be called into work, and the whole thing would fall to the wayside in a series of frantic phone calls. Ultimately, it would only mean Spencer felt awful, and guilty, and it would have been better if you’d never planned anything in the first place. It wasn’t his fault, you couldn’t resent him for it, people’s lives were at stake.

But you were so excited for a vacation.

Even in the airport, as Spencer passed through security with the lazy, efficient movements of a weary regular flier, you’d been waiting for his phone to ring. For it to all be over. You’d held his arm in the airport lounge, waiting for the gate announcement, not daring to speak a word in case the universe heard you and Spencer had to jump on a different plane before yours had even taken off. Then there would be the arguing with the airline. The money lost, the forms for it to be refunded by the FBI, your bags missing because they were already packed deep into the hold of the plane.

You had clutched your coffee cup, already feeling dread and exhaustion overtaking you.

Then the plane had taken off. You hadn’t quite believed it. Spencer put his phone on airplane mode, and showed it to you.

“We’ve made it,” he whispered, through a smile, “it would be in violation of the Federal Aviation Administration regulations to take a call from work now.”

You shoved your face into his neck, and let yourself begin to feel excited.

The resort was one recommended by a colleague of Spencer’s, boring and relaxing, adults’ only and pleasantly quiet. There was a time and a place for exploring and excitement, but truly the thought of Spencer spending a single week away from work felt like excitement enough.

In the taxi from the airport, when Spencer had turned his phone back on and not received summons from Gideon, you finally let yourself utter the words:

“I can’t believe we’re on holiday.”

“I know!”

Spencer was giddy, you could count on one hand the number of times you’d heard him giggle, and it was so wonderful you had to pull his hand into yours and squeeze it.

“I am so excited to do nothing,” he admitted, though you knew his e-reader contained a small library’s worth of books.

“I just want to eat good food, and spend time with you.”

“I think I’m going to turn my phone off,” he said abruptly, as though he’d only just had the thought he could.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah! Garcia knows where I am, if there’s a real emergency. That way I won’t feel like I have to check it all the time.”

“That sounds like a great idea.”

He smiled at you, and you watched as he shot off a quick text to Penelope, before completely turning his phone off. For a moment there was silence, and you both waited, listening to the sound of rubber on tarmac and feeling the heat of the sun outside. Nothing happened. Of course it didn’t. The realisation made you burst out laughing at the same time as Spencer, and you caught a flash of the driver’s backwards glance in the rear view mirror.

“You know what, mine too!”

You turned your phone off in solidarity, and stacked it beside his on the middle seat.

“Swap?” Spencer asked, offering you his phone, but you shook your head.

“Straight into the safe, when we get to the hotel. They can stay there.”

“That’s an even better idea.”

You knew, if it came down to it, if a life was at risk, he’d get the message from the hotel reception and go back to Quantico. That was okay. It was part of who he was, he needed the BAU, as much as they needed him.

There was a chain of people between that decision being made and Spencer finding out, including Gideon and Penelope, who would do everything in that power not to ask him. And that felt good.

For the first day, you let yourselves do only what you wanted to, to explore, to lie in bed, to read. Spencer needed the reminders not to watch every little thing that happened, not to examine poolsides and restaurants like they were crime scenes, but soon that went away and the frown in his brow was smoothed.

He wore swim trunks. He tried sips of your cocktail while floating in a pool. He laughed, and cried at one of the books he read, and ate properly, and let himself spend hours lying against your body in bed.

When you left the hotel, you both forgot your phones, and had to pay the taxi driver to turn around and get them.

“We should just leave them,” you’d joked breathlessly, as the receptionist concealed exasperation and politely led you to the room you’d just checked out of.

“That would be pointless, I’d just have to buy another one –” Spencer was distracted, following the receptionist, working out whether you’d miss the plane in the worst possible scenario.

You could see the stress in him, as the taxi driver waited outside with your bags, his meter running.

“Not if we stay here forever,” you teased, and finally saw the fall of his shoulders, the smile lines appearing on his face.

“You know, that’s not a bad idea.”

Spencer made it a whole 24 hours after landing without getting on another plane, and you considered it a small victory. When he called you on the jet you could almost see him, skin a little bit more tanned, his hair still a little curlier from the sun and the chlorine.

“You’d better bring a souvenir, jet setter,” you teased, and imagined Spencer wrinkling his nose before he replied.

“We’re going to Milwaukee.”

[seafoamreadings]

week of july 28th, 2024

these are written predominantly for the *rising* signs but they are also intuitively "channeled" enough that they should work for any dominant energy you have! (try your sun if you don't know rising, or more advanced readers can try moon, anywhere you have a stellium, etc and see what works best for you!)

aries: there's a lot of potential for this week to take on quite a romantic tone this week, and if that's not something on your radar or relevant to your interests, go out of your way to at least make it a bit glamorous! have fun with that.

taurus: your ruling planet squares uranus who has been long in your sign. it's a weird time to be a taurean. but mostly in good ways! you are finding all the unconventional, eccentric things that make you so interesting and fun. lean into it without alienating anyone.

gemini: this week does not feature many undertones pertinent to your sign and yet, there are many aspects that will bring omens to those geminis who can get quiet and still enough to listen.

cancerians: the moon, your ruling planet, is really in many ways at center stage all week. it culminates in a new moon in leo at the end of the week. set money intentions; your financial skills and resourcefulness are underrated but when put to good use rival the stereotypical boss vibes of any capricorn.

leo: key to this week is the new moon in your sign on the weekend. the new moon always involves the strength of your ruling luminary, the sun. so new moons are always powerful times for you to manifest or set goals. that goes double when it's in your own sign! focus a bit on yourself and who you are becoming, who you mean to become.

virgo: your work at this time is soul stuff, like it or not. it may place you in a sort of hermit mode, even if you aren't truly isolated; you may need time apart to heal or feel that you must repent in some way. do what it takes to emerge out the other side, into next week and the period afterward, at your best, optimized. sometimes that means work, and sometimes it means rest.

libra: friend groups may be shifting, like repositioning oneself to regain balance. go with it. don't cling or grasp, as hard as it may be. esoteric studies get a nice boost especially if you can pair them with a nice playlist or ancient library scene. sharing resources or lending money are not advised.

scorpio: while you're not typically one for being the center of all attention, the spotlight is about to end up on you one way or another. you don't have to enjoy it but it's best to make good use of it while you have this platform.

sagittarius: mercury IS about to go retrograde but if you're not particularly mercurial yourself, starting this week can be an excellent time for long distance travel. this is especially the case if you're willing to romanticize it all a bit. and if you can't literally travel, at least be expanding your mind and horizons!

capricorn: for you this might be a period of inheritance or sharing resources with a new (?) partner. but it's also auspicious for going into business with someone, for taking out a loan if you're needing it, or for lending if you are in a position to do so.

aquarius: this is in many ways a challenging week for you. avoid confrontations with enemies (or frenemies.) i would also advise against moving in with a romantic partner at this time, even if it seems like a great thing to do. maybe let it wait. but to make plans about relationships is auspicious! just don't act on much yet. especially where your home is involved.

pisces: if you've been waiting for a chance to boost your health in any way or change up your routines, this week is a great time to do it. you don't even have to let it be mundane, it's actually more auspicious to live every day in sacred ritual.

[finethingswellworn]

The thing that struck me most on my first watch of S2 of Good Omens was how very exhausted Crowley seemed right from the beginning.

We first see him in the park where he asks, "Do you ever wonder what's the point of it all?" He sounds so jaded and beaten down.

When Aziraphale calls, he already knows something's wrong. And while he's absolutely surprised and terrified at Gabríel's being in the bookshop, I think he's kind of been waiting for this precious, peaceful, fragile existence he and Aziraphale have carved out for themselves to come crashing down around them. He always suspected it would. "If you ask me, it'll be all of us against all of them." It was only a matter of time.

After Shax's visit to the bookshop, when he's confronting Gabriel, he says, "If any harm comes to Aziraphale because of this I'll... oh, never mind. It's too late, isn't it? It's always too late." As if he's already resigned himself to the idea that there's no way for them to get out of this situation unscathed.

Crowley's exhaustion is really the motivating factor in him asking Aziraphale to go off with him. We know he doesn't want to leave Earth. He knows he doesn't want to leave Earth. However, although he's an optimist at heart, he's been constantly worn down by heaven and hell's antics for thousands and thousands of years. So much so that he's almost given up. It's too big, too impossible to fix.

So he shifts the goalpost to something more attainable.

"Alright, heaven and hell are at it again. Alright, it doesn't matter what we do, the bastards are going to draw us into it. Alright, they're probably going to succeed in destroying the world sooner or later. I've accepted that. But if I could just get Aziraphale out of here..."

And that's all too relatable, especially in the context of dealing with/attempting to get away from toxic institutions like heaven and hell are in the show.

Because, no matter how much you care, no matter how much you wish things were different, you can't keep running yourself into the ground forever. After a while, it becomes less of: "how can I improve the system," and more of: "How can I get myself and my loved ones through this and hopefully, someday, out of here for good?"

Crowley has been in survival mode for so long. Of course he wants to run away.. He won't, because that's not who he is, and anyway, he's still waiting on that angel of his. But he'll always fixate on the ease and freedom that running away might have provided. It's more comforting than having to acknowledge to himself that, in this universe, at least for him, there is no real escape.

[spicywhenspeaking]

The second to last touch-starved prompt with anyone in Bad Omens please 🙏 I love your writing so much!

Sorry this took me forever!!! Tbh I STRUGGLED! Lmaooo couldn’t decide if I wanted to get sad with it or fluffy. I decided fluffy because thinking about sad stuff was depressing….😵‍💫❤️

Prompt was Leaning onto each other, just being close, was enough and I did Nicholas x Reader

Anywhooooo! Hope you like it!!

Requests are open :)

I was all set to leave and join Nicholas on tour. I fit more clothes than physically possible in my bag and then the next day I woke up with a 103 fever and the worst body aches I’ve ever had.

I took a Covid test and when it came out positive I called Nicholas right away and it was probably a mistake because as soon as I heard his “hey baby, I’m so excited to see you tomorrow night. All packed up?” I busted out crying. “Baby, what’s wrong?” His voice was rushed and panicked.

“I’m sick!” I broke out in between quiet sobs, “I have Covid.” The both of us were devastated about not getting to see each other.

My life as a private chef takes me all over the place so we haven’t seen each other in over a month and a half because of our conflicting schedules. We talk on the phone and facetime, but it’s not the same and I miss being with him. Being immuno compromised I was sick for a long time, almost three and a half weeks with a nasty cough and body aches that made it difficult to get out of bed some days. By the time I finally recovered they only had two weeks of the tour left.

By some miracle the retreat I was supposed to cater was rescheduled at the last minute so I went straight into planning mode and repacked my bag to prepare for my surprise. I told Matt and the other guys about it so they all knew to expect me and knew not to say anything to Nicholas. I was hoping I’d be able to be awake when I saw him after all this time but after several flight delays I’m a day later than expected and haven’t slept in over 24 hours so when my head hits the pillow in his bunk and I’m surrounded by his familiar scent I am immediately out.

I don’t know how much later it is but I’m lightly awoken when I hear clanking and shuffling outside of the bus followed by the door opening and feet filling inside. “I’m exhausted dude, I’m just going to climb in my bunk and try to call y/n” I can hear my boyfriend’s muffled voice. “Why is my curtain closed? I definitely left it open” I hear him again before he pulls it back and he startles me at first with his initial reaction. “What the fuck?!” He yelps and I jump, my head flies up and hits the roof of his bunk “ow!” I cry out and he must immediately recognize that it’s me. “Baby!” He says and climbs in the bunk and tackles me back into the covers. “Oh my god, baby. You’re here.” He mumbles into my neck. I can hear him take a long breath, “god I missed how good you smell, these guys smell like ass.” I chuckle and hear Folio say “hey!” From his bunk on the other side of the bus.

Nicholas moves to quickly pull the curtain back to closed. “I thought you weren’t able to come” he continues to mumble his words into my neck, unwilling to let me go. I smooth my hand down his head and play with his hair. “The retreat was rescheduled so I got a last minute flight to see you” I say and he finally looks up and I see his eyes are glossy. “I missed you so much baby” he says and leans up to me to kiss me and it’s perfect. I feel everything that we want to say, all of the “ I love yous” and the “I miss yous” all reflected in the kiss. When we finally part he rests his forehead against mine and we just lay in comfortable silence. “How was the show? I’m sorry I missed it, I’m exhausted. Fighting to stay awake right now actually” I laugh out honestly. Smiling, he shifts us into a more comfortable position with me resting my head on his chest and his arms wrapped around me. “The show was great, but I think this is the highlight of my night. I’m so happy you’re here.” I rest my hand on his chest and feel the steady beat of his heart, “I’m happy I’m here too Nicholas” I say and as much as my body craves to be closer in every way leaning onto each other, just being close was enough.

[rainbowrass]

Good omens season 1 and 2 spoilers.

•Okay so look I have a theory, crowley have AuDhd (adhd+autism/asperger in a combo) and aziraphale have asperger/autism. ?

•Crowley:

•Constantly spaces out only to come back with random stuff like dolphin facts when the conversation has alredy moved on a long time ago etc.

•Gets grumpy/annoyed easily.

•Have a hard time remembering things.

•Loves plants (duuuh)

•crowley seems to switch hobbies or have no hobbys at all at times

•Loves animals/Gets very overprotective over them and empathic (don't feed ducks bread)

•Uses allot of body language overly exaggerated at times especially in the face.

•Is only really himself around someone he knows

•Is charismatic outgoing half the time

•Is quite stiff dosent move half the time

•Show strong empathic feelings when its someone he cares about very theatric overdramatic

•Wear sunglasses (light sensetive)

•Shift moods allot with short interwalls in one day, humorous, grumpy, cute, regular etc.

•Usually feels bored

•Is a picky eater

•Constantly changes outfit and hairstyle(because impulsive and bored wanting something fresh)

•has bad posture

•don't like when people touch his things (like his car)

•has emotional atarchment to inanimate objects (car

•panicking when someone effect his comfort items (car and arguable aziraphale if yo uwanna call him an item)

•Is awake for too long and then sleeps for too long (he slept for 3 months and probobly stayed up some centuries)

•Aziraphale have a hard time realising when someone is in love with him

•Only eats the same thing /drinks the same thing over and over

•Comfort eats

•Gets in panicking mode when his comfort items is lost or destroied (books)

•Is very smart (always figures out the mysteries in the series)

•Can draw very well (season 2)

•Always wear the same outfit

•Like old timey things

•Have few hobbies that he keeps holding on to (books, magic tricks, gavotte)

•Don't reaction to sad news the way he is expected to by society

•Don't care for money in a materialistic way (did echabge 8 months of rent for like 7 LP discs because that was more intressting than some pile of cash)

•Is not afraid of looking stupid/breaking the norm

•Have good posture

•remember every book he ever bought and info about them

•Neither of them is too close to anyone always 10 feet away from people including echoter except for some parts especially in season 2 when they have grown closer

•Both have problems with love

Excuze potensial spelling errors it is half past midnight in my country and also I am way to lazy.

[quornesha]

Prophecy And Symbolism of The Polyphemus Moth

The Following Channel is from higher powers, Divine, the ancestral plane and is prophetic through Quornesha S. Lemon|

Whether the Polyphemus Moth appears in dreams, visions, waking life or synchronicities, it is a sign and message that you are transforming beautifully. Something that you’re cultivating will bring you to great success and joy. Your spirit illumines and is piercing to the eyes that witness it. You are coming out of a dark night of the soul. Transforming out of the lessons that molded you. What served you in survival mode is about to die. Something was given to you to overcome an adversity and now it is time to surrender it. In other words, the training wheels are coming off and now it’s your turn. The tides are turning. Gone are the days when only the elite succeed, or only those in power.

You, yourself are coming to a prominent position. A position of power and prestige. You are ascending in many ways and breaking free of old constraints. This moth is also a sign of a loss of a loved one that may have been sick a long time with no sign of recovery. Soon, their suffering will be over. You will overcome your grief, this is a prophecy of about 5 days from the time of seeing this omen. The Polyphemus Moth is also a sign to make the most of a golden opportunity to come your way soon. For this is payback for the times you’ve spent in seasons of failure.

You’ve genuinely supported others and have shown great care and attentiveness in others big dreams. You are not forgotten about. The Polyphemus Moth is symbolic of transition, transformation, the end of a cycle, the conclusion of struggle, the removal of blocks your purpose and success. It is also a sign of a chain being broken. You may be experiencing potential you've never thought you had before. You may even teach about paranormal subjects or share spiritual knowledge. If this is a person/beloved/partner in question, then perhaps this person is only with you for a season and not a lifetime. It is also symbolic that this person in question is karmic and not soulmate.

The universe is looking to reward you. There's a one time deposit coming personally to you and this will set off a chain of events and deposits of abundance and prosperity. Your visions are telling you a story. Your clairvoyant gifts are expanding as well as other senses. Your discernment is a key tool in the coming days and months. You have truly surrendered to the higher powers’ plan for your life. Listen and take heed to all prophecies coming to you soon. “By chance” or out of the blue opportunities are coming your way. Take hold of all good things. You are setting yourself and family up for a lifetime of security, wealth, abundance and peace of mind. Keep moving forward, don't quit on you. Always bet on yourself.

If you want to bet on someone, bet on yourself. -Kobe Bean Bryant

This totem is a sign of the death card in tarot. So, something is about to end so that something far better can start/begin. If a friendship, relationship or connection ends at this time, let it be. Thank it for it's time and release. You may feel like you're alone but you're simply awaiting your season to lead, which is now. You have just shift into something more beautiful than you can imagine.

This message isn't, obviously resonant with all whose paths it crosses, as perhaps you may encounter someone of this vernacular, mastery or skill. Therefore, it is a sign from the universe that you're meant to work with such a person. 

Need further clarity or your own queries answered? Book your own reading as my schedule is full and I do not guarantee a reply on social media regarding this post.

If this is not you, then it is time to get clear to rejoin your tribe or the rest of the world of infinite beings. It's time to bring your light to the forefront. However, if you aren't able to invoke, heal or otherwise on your own, call on the assistance of shamans, healers, intuitive people, etc. to assist you. This synchronicity can possibly have specific meanings for you, it's time to get insight. 

The Gift that Quornesha Has can never be duplicated, She is a Shaman, Writer, Healer,  And Teacher with incredible prophetic/healing gifts. Please do not infringe upon her rights as the author. You are not permitted to reuse, nor are you to sale as you wish. This information has been made available to you for the purpose of introduction and demonstration. All rights reserved. If you'd like to use this in a magazine, online publication, or other, please ask for permission first. Legal actions will be taken if you proceed to impose. Be blessed, bless others and be at peace on your journey. What you do is coming back on you. Make sure that it is good, and all is well within you, through you and around you.  The source sees all and knows what you think it does not. 

[25explodingdinosaursinspace]

Tag nine (9) people you’d like to know better

I was tagged by @9puppiesdrowninginapool - thanks ✨

last song: dorothy at forty - cursive (if you don't count the niche music from my brothers car)

currently watching: what we do in the shadows (very slowly bc new season). I just finished witcher so i will either probably continue my new girl rewatch until good omens or the next witcher episodes drop.

currently reading: just started piranesi - susanna clarke. i keep re-reading the first few pages… i hope i'll like it soon. Otherwise still reading this one anxiety self help book in the slowest pace possible

current obsession: i've been shifting into good omens mode but got so exhausted by my obsession brain in such little time that i tried to obsess less by using less tumblr and reading more in parks. i think it kind of worked for me though now i spend more time on instagram ….yuck

I’m tagging: whoever wants to :)

[joyfulsongbird]

Bruises And All- Chapter 7

Here’s the link to Chapter 6!

***

HERMES finds them passed out on the sofa downstairs.

It’s not unexpected exactly, it’s more... saddening. He knows how this story plays out, he’s seen it many times in the people in the time, in his own family. people come and then they leave, they love and they lose. This is a story he has told to Orpheus so many times but he never seems to listen to the subcontext. He tells him stories of gods, of men, of people whose darkness gets the better of them. that sometimes the dark beats the light. but Orpheus never hears that, no, he hears the endless music that continues through his head. He hears a perpetual melody as an undercurrent for his life. Before Orpheus, Hermes was slowly losing hope. He was slowly getting lost in the sea that is humanity, tangled and lost and speechless. but this boy changed everything. instead of looking at these two teenagers like how their ending will turn out, he looks at them with the present in mind. how happy they will be for a brief time before it all goes south.

or maybe not. maybe this time will be different.

She finally stirs awake at the sound of his feet climbing back up the stairs, he catches the sound of the couch shifting and a cup being lifted off the table. He leaves the door open for her, not bothering to act if he hadn’t been down there. and he waits, in the kitchen, standing over the sink filling a half full kettle with hot water for tea.

“Would you like to sit down, dear?” he asks, without looking up. He can feel her there, standing warmly by the bar.

“no, that’s alright.” she answers hastily. “I was just coming up to drop off this mug and go upstairs again.”

“It's nearly past breakfast, why don’t you stay down here and I can make some eggs. and some for Orpheus, too, whenever he gets up.” He's already getting out a pan and some butter when he finally glances over at the girl. She's standing there, mouth open slightly, eyes darting between him and the pan and the stairs not five feet behind her. she swallows.

“you must be hungry.” he continues, not waiting for an answer. she hesitates, and then nods. a step in the right direction. He's not the parenting type but raising Orpheus was great practice. not that he’s ever planning on having any children, he’s far too old for that stage in life, but it taught him to care again. to love again. to be tender with people again. and he’s so very thankful for that. “sit down, I’ll take that mug.”

she does what he says, moving in slow robotic movements. he tries not to think at all, otherwise he may speak. he’s always been good at being diplomatic, at saying what needs to be said and moving on quickly, but here, in this situation, it feels oddly familiar and oddly emotional. he wants to tell her so many things, so many things that he couldn’t tell another woman. that he wishes he had time for, or that he’d been brave enough to say then. but this is not the time and this is not the same woman, this is just a very hungry girl with wide eyes at the sight of butter. they are poor in this town, yes, but not without their luxuries. he has a feeling she hasn’t seen such an indulgence in a very long time, perhaps never at all.

as the pan heats up, he washes her mug quickly, noting the bag of Orpheus’ favorite tea and that there is still about three fourths of the tea left in the mug.

“Is he always like this?” the girl asks after several minutes of silence. He doesn’t turn around to see her face, he knows exactly what she is referring to. Knows exactly what her expression is, a slight smile playing across her lips, a softness in her eye that was not there before. He knows this play, he knows these roles, and she is just the actress for this part.

“Yes.” is his simple answer. He really need not say anything more. Orpheus is simply joy personified. Hermes can’t explain it to anyone who hasn’t met the boy, but once they do? They, too, understand how special he is.

When he looks back over at the girl, she’s facing away from him, but he can see the tension in her shoulders, in the way she sits.

“You don’t have to be afraid here.” he says and she whips around quickly, eyes flashing dangerously.

“I’m not afraid.”

“You are.”

“I am not.”

“You won’t even tell me your name, you won’t look any of us in the eye, these are all gestures of fear, darling.”

“Well, what am I supposed to do?” she exclaims, voice rising with her emotion.

“Lower your voice, first of all.” she looks about sheepishly, cheeks coloring.

“What am I supposed to do? Truly, what point is there in telling you my name?” she continues, with a softer tone now. “What good could it possibly do if I am simply going to be leaving as soon as this storm passes?”

He lifts an eyebrow at her. “You are a fool then.”

“Excuse me?”

“You are a fool if you still think you are able to leave.”

*

He can honestly say he’s never been more sure of anything. That is to say, he is not 100% sure that she will not kick into fight or flight mode and run out into the storm but he’s sure her resolve is crumbling. He finds himself rooting for him, rooting for the two of them. Hades is right, of course, she’s bad news. She’s like a mourning dove, an omen of only tragedy to come. But when he looks at her, something in his eyes brightens to the point where it’s blinding. The girl doesn’t look away though, she looks right back. Orpheus admires her, most definitely, but judging from the glances to the side and the ever growing intention in her movements, she admires him too. She wants him, too. That can’t be for nothing. The storm will last for another day or two but by that time, he doubts the two of them will be able to pry apart.

Fate is tricky like that.

One storm passes, yet another looms.

Through the morning, each of the housemates find something to occupy themselves with. Orpheus helps him clean the bar, clean the tables for the third time in the past day, they all just exist in silence. Hades and Persephone play cards, the girl cards through an old book Orpheus must’ve given her. There’s so much silence and only the rain falling on the roof to fill it that it is almost comical when the quiet is broken.

“Eurydice-” as soon as the name leaves his mouth, he claps a hand over his lips, eyes gone wide. The girl- Eurydice- looks up from her book, slowly, with caution.

“Yes?”

“I-I-” he stutters. “Um-”

“Eurydice?” Hades looks over from his cards. “That sounds familiar.”

Eurydice grips the spine of her book hard, she doesn’t look towards him. “It’s not uncommon.”

“It is though. It’s awfully uncommon. I swear, now I think about it, I’ve seen you before.” his brother in law could never mind his own business.

“You haven’t.”

“I have. You were a couple towns over, weren’t you?”

“Stop.”

“Some tiny place, I can’t recall the name. You- you were the drunkard’s daught-”

“Stop it, can’t you tell you’re upsetting her!” Hermes has never seen Orpheus shout before and would never have thought that it might be at Hades of all people, the man who Orpheus had proclaimed “very tall and terrifying” as a child.

The electricity in the air could power their town several times over. But it’s the type of tension which you cannot break, like the air is thick as molasses, if you try to move, everything goes slowly. So that time stretches out thin as a sheet of a paper and nobody dares speak. Hades glare could melt steel, so many have said that his intimidation is what probably got him his job, but for the first time in his whole life, Orpheus stares back. Jaw set.

“Maybe you should take a break.” Persephone suggests quietly from across the table.

“I’m not going anywhere.” Orpheus says stubbornly, his fists clenched and shaking.

“I wasn’t talking to you.” Persephone’s looking at her husband, and though Hermes has witnessed their silent confrontations dozens of times, he has yet to become fluent in their language. Hades turns slowly to her, placing his cards face down on the table, carefully, as if he’ll be back soon to continue the game. He stands, brushes the wrinkles out of his button up and starts up the stairs, without a word, without even a breath. Hermes turns his eyes to Eurydice, her lips pressed together and eyes following the man with something not unlike fear in them. But also anger. A deep, old anger. In his years of experience, he knows that these combined can stew up some of the rashest decisions. In the back of his mind, he concludes that he must keep an eye on her. That does not stop him though, when he averts his eyes when Orpheus comes to sit beside her, an arm wrapping ever so gently around her shoulders. She doesn’t lean into it, nor does she pull away, just remains stiff and lifeless. Eyeing the stairs dangerously.

He justifies it to himself later, that he’d simply just missed her slipping up the stairway while they are working on making lunch. But he knows that he’d turned a blind eye. If she needs to confront him, so be it.

*

thank you so much if you made it this far!!!! i know interest in this fic has dwindled but at this point i’m just happy that i wrote anything at all, thank you for reading and if you’d consider liking or reblogging, that’d be amazing!! no pressure ofc, i appreciate even just a read through!!

[mcousland]

Even numbers for the Tylide parents 👀👀 or odd numbers 👀👀👀 either one, I just want the tea

I see you. Fiend. Forcing me to make up things we haven’t established yet. I know all of your games, villain. Odds it is. Everything I say is canon and you cannot take it back now. // otp & their kids questionnaire

1.) how did they feel about raising children? did these feelings change once they became parents?

Elide has always wanted to have kids, she’s so family oriented that there was never a doubt for her at any point. If anything, she only became more eager about raising children as she and Tyrus kept having them. There’s nothing in her mind that compares to watching their children grow in front of them, and seeing how they act in the world with what they’ve taught them. Also?? Very funny watching them try to pronounce big words when they’re little, copying her accent. Unmatched comedy.

I believe that it’s been mentioned for Tyrus that he has doubts about being a good father?? Ridiculous. Elide spends months reciting her little essays on how he’ll be the greatest papa and how their baby will adore him to no end, she’s known him for so long she Knows with all of her heart that he couldn’t be anything but an incredible father. But it’s Tyrus, so he still has a Little Bit of that doubt for the first while there with Sansa until he sees the truth in Elide’s words. Give him the Best Papa Award of Andaria now, please and thank you.

3.) what is their favorite thing(s) about their children? what do they love about their children the most?

Wait, this question is hard. Contrary to the usual of answering these in numerical order, I’m doing this one last and I hate it. I refuse to do this for each child, it’d take forever and I’d slip fully into Elide brain and write entire essays per pup. 

Elide’s favorite thing is probably the determination they all have?? Because one of her core beliefs is that her and Tyrus’s children are, at least in some small part, pieces of them that they’ve brought into the world to further spread the good they’ve been spreading for who-knows-how-long at that point. So being able to watch them grow up and one by one dedicate themselves to some task that is meant to protect people, or save them, or simply bring them some happiness,, it really gets to her. She couldn’t be more proud. 

I will,, make the guess that?? Tyrus’s favorite thing may be how close everyone in the family is. Considering what happened to him with his whole family deal, I can only imagine how good it feels to see all of the siblings so bonded and in-touch with each other, even as they grow older and some of them start to travel. They keep in communication with the family, visit home frequently and brings gifts for everyone, constantly ask how everyone’s doing and if they need help with something. There is an.. incredible amount of unconditional Love in this household between the parents, the kids, the grandparents and all of those extended relatives and friends, I can only assume it’s the Love that Tyrus loves the most. 

5.) who do they think their children takes after the most? which traits do the children share with their parents? (appearance or personality wise)

Answered here!

7.) how do they soothe their crying baby when they’re out in public? who’s the best at rocking the baby to sleep?

Elide holds them close and quietly comforts to them. Because the kiddos’ find her voice soothing enough but add on her cuddling them and running her hand over their head gently while cooing?? Forget about it. Fit over. Tyrus feels the type to also hold them, but instead of whispering generally Soft things he’ll start asking them what they’d like and offering ways to make them feel better until he hits the jackpot and finds what soothes them. 

Trick question, they’re both good at rocking the baby to sleep. ... Actually. Okay. Elide is better at rocking the baby to sleep, she’s a natural with the movement and like mentioned above her voice does wonders to coax them into sleep. Tyrus is better at lying down with a baby and having them fall asleep on his chest, because he’s got the Papa Presence and warmth that makes them feel all comfortable and secure. 

9.) who is the most protective of their children? what makes them both shift into overprotective mode?

Answered here!

11.) what was their baby’s first word(s)? if the baby’s first word was something used to address their parent(s), who claimed bragging rights?

Time to make up some bullshit!!!

Sansa’s first word was “give”, as Elide had been trying to teach her would you like Mama to give this to you? And it worked! Kinda. The intent had been to teach her mama, but she’ll take what she can get. And what she got was Sansa pointing at any and everything she wanted and shouting “give!” with so much excitement that it actually worked. 

Dorian’s first word was “papa”, which doubled as him addressing both Tyrus, his actual father, and Mikael, Elide’s father who lives on the estate with them. Little Dorian thought they were Both called papa, as Elide would refer to them both with it, but he was able to adjust in a few months with some explaining from everyone.

Elaine’s first word was “nanny”, AKA the name of one of the family’s two big dogs. Nanny is a good good girl who got her name because she always takes care of the children, almost comically like a cartoon dog with how she keeps them from falling over or getting into trouble. And with how Elaine always watched over her siblings, she’d spend a lot of time with Nanny and picked up her name first to call for her attention or tell mama and papa that Nanny wanted them.

Elijah’s first word was “cat”, which he learned from Tyrus and Sansa explaining that Ellie, Elide’s cat who turned into the family’s, was a cat. AKA Sansa learned the word cat very early on and was determined to teach it to each of her siblings, and often asked papa to confirm her facts. He just seems like the little baby who had the cat following him and sitting with him constantly, because Ellie is a very affectionate animal. 

Eloise’s first word was “uh-oh”, and I don’t accept otherwise. It was an omen. She’d heard Sansa and Dorian say it a few times when bad or upsetting things happened, and when that day came around that she first knocked a tome off a table she looked right up at papa across the room and said “uh-oh”. 

Alexandra’s first word was “cuddle”, easily because she was spoiled by them and often heard the word mentioned by Elide and/or Tyrus when they’d hold her while lying down in bed or in the estate’s equivalent to a living room. I imagine Elide heard this one first when she went to check on Alexandra playing and the little girl looked right up at her, held up her arms and asked “cuddle?” She was going for please pick me up, probably, but hey it worked out. 

Greer’s first word was without a single doubt “papa”, she’s been the biggest papa’s girl since day fuckin’ one and it never changes. She also fell prey to the whole Tyrus + Mikael = Papa thing, but it takes her a lot longer to understand the difference. Even with Tyrus sitting her down and explaining “I’m papa. That’s grandpapa.” it still takes her a little over a year to puzzle it all out. Honestly, it took that long because Elide and Tyrus would laugh when she messed up and she took that as oh they’re happy, I should say it again.

Cormac’s first word was “mama”. Elide finally got her rights!!!!! In similar fashion to Greer, he was the biggest mama’s boy and wanted to be with her constantly. Just the imagining of Tyrus going to take Cormac for his bath and hearing “mama” in the sternest voice a just-under-1 year old can manage is,,, hysterical. 

Julian’s first word was “wot?”, in Elide’s very ridiculous ass Westie accent. I don’t think he had any idea what it meant, he just liked to say it over and over and hear mama and papa laugh at his little impression.

[ineffably-good]

Flufftober #19: Cooking (Good Omens)

Summary: Crowley is acting suspicious. Aziraphale channels his inner James Bond.

__

Crowley was up to something, Aziraphale knew it. The demon was suddenly acting shifty and jumpy, snatching his phone up whenever the latest message notification arrived and quickly scanning it while keeping the screen tilted and out of view.

Aziraphale was, in a word, disturbed. He was even more disturbed when the demon started disappearing somewhere every Wednesday evening, without reasonable explanation. He'd mumble something about checking with his contacts, demon work to do, checking the warding on the neighborhood. He never accepted offers of company, and he was always gone exactly two and a half hours. When he came back, he smelled like food and waved off all inquiries with garbled comments that weren't quite lies but added no light to the situation. It was decidedly odd.  

On the third such week, Aziraphale waved goodbye with a sick feeling in his stomach and spent that evening worrying and fretting and trying to decide what to do. He thought back over the last few months and tried to decide if he’d done something to push Crowley away; he couldn’t put his finger on any such incident. If anything, things seemed to have been going exceptionally well in the last six months; in fact, they’d been nearly inseparable since they had the big fight about Aziraphale’s lying and spent those tortuous ten days apart. Both of them seemed to hold onto the other with increased ferver for having faced and surmounted their first large problem, and Aziraphale had thought they were well and truly past it.

And now here they were, he thought sadly, with the demon hiding things from him. The irony did not escape him.

There must, Aziraphale thought, be someone else. The thought cracked something inside of him and he batted it away but it kept returning. Why else would Crowley keep claiming to be going off to run errands and then coming back smelling like he’d been in a restaurant?

He resolved to follow him the next time he went out. Time to face this head on. 

++

Aziraphale immediately went into full on spy mode. Always one to start with wardrobe, he spent some time thinking of the best outfit in which to surveil his demon. Clearly his usual outfit was of no use – he’d stick out like a sore thumb in any dark shadows in his light colored clothing and his bright hair. He considered a cape, but reluctantly discarded it in the end for a soft gray suit he rarely wore, and experimented with his various shoes to see which might be the least likely to give him away.

Next, he scouted the nearby streets around the neighborhood and mentally bookmarked a number of good points for discretely watching the pavement and various intersections. He could never just trail along behind Crowley outright – the demon was much too cagey not to notice that. No, this was a game that required skill, and he was going to have to play it extremely well.

The following Wednesday, when Crowley left, he watched the direction he headed off in, then snapped his fingers to change himself instantly into what he now thought of as his spy suit. He then tucked a fedora down on his head to hide his shock of bright hair, and magicked himself to the first observation point he’d selected, about a block and half away in the right direction. He used a little extra grace to dampen the field of angelic energy associated with his reappearance, so that hopefully Crowley wouldn’t notice it.

Crowley passed by on the opposite side of the street, seemingly none the wiser, and turned left down the next corner without a look behind him. Aziraphale crept to the corner and watched to see if he continued down that road, then again used a muted miracle to ferret himself a bit ahead of Crowley where he could watch him undetected. This time he overshot the mark a bit – he watched behind him as Crowley approached and turned again rather than passing by. This put him a bit off the map of Aziraphale’s scouted locations, so the angel had to go off script and follow him on foot for a while. He did so as carefully as he could, lingering almost a block behind and on the other side of the street.

He managed to get away with it, mostly because Crowley arrived at his destination very shortly thereafter – a sushi restaurant Aziraphale had never been to. Crowley stopped at the door, straightened out his jacket and ran a hand through his hair, and then went inside. Aziraphale inched closer until he could see through the front windows as Crowley was greeted by the girl behind the bar with obvious affection, and then a tall, well-appointed, elegant Japanese man came out of the back room to kiss him on both cheeks and shepherded him out of sight into a private room.

Crowley looked, Aziraphale had to admit, delighted to see him.

Aziraphale didn’t stop to allow any emotion at the time; it was too dangerous with Crowley so attuned to his feelings to allow any response he might pick up on. Instead he paced, circling the block multiple times, knowing Crowley would be some time before he emerged. He poured energy into shielding the prickling rage he was feeling. He fidgeted. He dug his nails into his palms. He shifted his weight from foot to foot. And through it all, he stared through the window towards the door Crowley had disappeared through earlier.

After an interminably long time, Crowley appeared. The elegant, slender man he’d seen earlier came with him, carrying a small bag. He laid an affectionate hand on Crowley’s shoulder and handed the bag to him, wreathed in smiles. They both appeared to laugh.

Aziraphale lost his grip on his shielding as a spike of white-hot rage rose up in his chest. He couldn’t help it; he glowered ferociously at the pair.

In the bar, Crowley’s head swiveled fast towards the windows, his golden eyes wide with shock.

Aziraphale leapt back as if he’d been burned, but it was too late. He knew he’d been seen.

Aziraphale slammed himself back home and materialized in their bedroom, where he first paced in a circle, and then for lack of anything better to do, began balling up Crowley’s clean laundry which was laying in a nicely-folded pile. Messing with someone’s laundry was, in Aziraphale’s world, a declaration of war. Take that, he thought fiercely, dropping a button down shirt on the floor in a sloppy pile.

There was a whump of air and Crowley appeared five feet away from him.

“Angel, what the hell?” he asked, worriedly. “Was that you outside the restaurant?”

Aziraphale wadded up a shirt and threw it directly into Crowley’s face. “Why yes it was,” he snapped. “And the game is up, my dear. I saw you!”

Crowley pulled the shirt off of himself and looked confused. “You saw what, exactly?”

Aziraphale threw another balled up shirt at him, harder. It hit Crowley in the face with a slapping sound. “I saw you with your new friend,” he yelled, “being all… all… affectionate.”

Crowley pulled the shirt off with a little more force and tossed it at the bed. “Stop that,” he said, “and calm down! What are you talking about?”

“Oh don’t you play innocent with me,” Aziraphale said, tossing yet another shirt at him, hard enough to sting when it caught him in the cheek. “I saw him kiss you! And I know you’ve been lying to me and sneaking off for weeks!”

Crowley flipped the shirt to the floor and leapt forward, grasping Aziraphale by both wrists, hard. “Stop hitting me with things!” he snapped. “You’re being ridiculous! Whatever you thought you saw, you’re wrong!”

The angel struggled against him for a moment, and then he seemed to lose his fight all together and sat heavily down onto the bed behind him. Crowley sat down next to him but still didn’t release his arms.

“I understand,” Aziraphale said, forlornly. “He seems lovely. He’s certainly tall and handsome and – and slim!” His voice cracked a little on that word. “I can see why you might be interested in someone like that. I won’t stand in your way if it’s something you need to get out of your system — ”

“Aziraphale have you lost your  –” the demon said quietly.

“ — and I hear this is a thing that happens after you’ve been together for a while,” Aziraphale continued, not even noticing the interruption. “And well, two years isn’t truly all that long,  but then again it’s been six millennia if you look at it differently, and maybe you just need a little bit of a distraction and I can do it, I can learn to cope, as long as you come back to me after –”

“Aziraphale I’m not –” the demon said a little louder.

“—after you’re done,” he continued, beginning to bristle. “Because you have to. I refuse to let you go, no matter who this man is. I will be able to forgive you, eventually. I am an angel, after all -- ”

“AZIRAPHALE!” Crowley shouted, shocking the angel into silence. “I’m not having an affair.”

“You’ve been meeting this man in restaurants!” Aziraphale said, eyes narrowed. “He kissed you! They all knew you there!”

Crowley groaned. “I’m taking a cooking class, you absolute moron!”

Aziraphale stared at him disbelievingly and said nothing for several long moments.

“Wh-what?”

“Wednesday nights at seven. Sushi making. They hold it in the back, in the banquet room.” Crowley looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be cross or amused.

Aziraphale swallowed. “Why would you do that?”

“Because, you idiot,” Crowley said, “It was a surprise. For our anniversary next month. I was going to make you sushi at home.” The demon opened the bag he had dropped earlier and showed Aziraphale the bamboo sushi rolling pad and special rice vinegar he’d purchased.

Aziraphale felt the blood drain from his face as the anger was replaced with shock and then horror. He opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to decide on what to say, and finally just groaned hopelessly and flopped back onto the bed, crossing his arms over his eyes. He waited quietly for the earth to open and swallow him up. It failed to happen, but the room did seem to spin agreeably for a moment.

“I am such an arse,” he moaned.

“I didn’t know you had a jealous streak, angel,” Crowley said, settling on amused.

“Neither did I,” the angel moaned, still not uncovering his face.

“I’m somewhat touched,” Crowley said, “that you went to such lengths. Even changed your clothes, did you? You did a good job following me, I never felt you there until the very end.”

Aziraphale hurrumphed. “I do have some skills outside of book bindery, you know.”

Crowley laid down on his side next to the angel and laid a hand on his hair, stroking softly. “Angel, I would never cheat on you,” he said. “I’m a little insulted you would even consider it. How could you think I would ever look at anyone else when I have you?”

Aziraphale pulled one arm away from his face and looked at Crowley a little reproachfully. “Oh, I don’t know. Because you were being very suspicious? All secretive? Sneaking about?”  

Crowley thought about it. “I suppose you have a point. I should’ve realized you’d notice something was up.”

“Of course I noticed,” Aziraphale said. “I notice everything about you.”

“Well,” Crowley said, “let’s call this one a draw. You overreacted, I underestimated, we both messed up. Okay?” He leaned in and gave the angel a soft kiss.

“Oh my dear,” the angel said, kissing him back on each eyelid. “I don’t deserve you.”

“You do,” Crowley said. “Can’t think of anyone more deserving, myself.”

Aziraphale stopped to consider the potential double meanings of that, and then gave up and wrapped his arm around the demon. He’d done enough thinking for one night.

[crantzypants]

Yes this is more Good Omens ideas. Come on up, take a seat! Extra thoughts in tags.

Now I’m not sure if the “take a DNA test and find out your family history/where your family came from” is big in the UK as it is in the states, but please think about Warlock and Adam taking them because OH BOY.

Adam, of course, takes it for fun because “What on earth are these scientists going to find?” and he, as well as the Them, just HAVE to know. Is it just going to come back with a letter saying it didn’t work? Will the Government come after them, and they can have a fun adventure out of it?

Of course it comes back, and not much to Adam’s shock, it comes back with the Young’s line. He had decided that his adopted parents were still his parents, that it didn’t matter because they have always been there for him and loved him, so of course it would come back matching. That’s what he believed it would really show, anyways.

But then you have Warlock, who probably had to do it for class, and his parents brushed it off. He just waits around, wondering why this craze interested people so much. All it did was confirm, in stone, who you are descended from. 

And then it comes back.

The test shows that he is from a “Young” family, not the Dowling line. His mother and father, of course, took a test themselves, and nothing about his results match. Warlock comes to his own conclusion that they must have adopted him, and did not realize that they should have told him. 

Mr. and Mrs. Dowling are terrified, because Mrs. Dowling REMEMBERS giving birth, which means there had to have been an accident in the hospital. Babies are swapped without realization every now and then, and this had to be the case here. While Mr. and Mrs. Dowling try to figure out what happened, Warlock finds the hospital he was born at and goes off on his own. Maybe he can find files or documents about his real birth parents, they could have been people that wanted to spend time with their child rather than pushing that duty off onto a Nanny, or the Gardner who had gone out of his way to spend time with the child.

Maybe they would have loved him more, and that feeling aches deeply in his chest.

Grabbing all the money from his room, and sneaking a healthy number of pounds out of Mr. Dowling’s wallet, Warlock takes off. 

It is a bit difficult, navigating his way to the correct bus station. He was never allowed out on his own, but he knows the trains and tube stops and buses. It just means he has to pay extra attention, and all of it would be worth it if he could find out where his birth parents are. 

It’s a long trip. He is able to navigate his way to the bus that leads to Tadfield. After shifting modes of transport all night, he finally can make it to the Hospital. It’ll be an early arrival, about 10 in the morning.

But when he gets there, it turns out it isn’t a hospital anymore. The nice manager says that there was a fire a bit after he was born, and destroyed every bit of paperwork. So of course now Warlock is left alone, at 11 in the morning in some small nowhere town with no easy way to get back home, so begins to just...walk. 

It’s a nice little town, the flowers aren’t nearly as well kept as the one’s at the Dowling residence, and most of the roads aren’t even paved. He steps out of the way of a group of children on their bikes, hooting and hollering about the Witch in Jasmine Cottage and what their palms had to say about their future. 

Warlock never really believed too hard in magic or the occult, but you know what? He had gone this far, and maybe this was a sign. A next step towards understanding where he came from. Where was the harm in hoping?

So he wanders around, looking for this witch, and sitting in a fork in the road is a house with a neat, beautifully written sign saying “Jasmine Cottage.” Sitting in front is a lovely bicycle, a Bentley, and a hellish vehicle called a Robin (he never understood the fascination for a car with three wheels). Warlock takes a breath, and decides to knock on the door. 

A nice lady opens the door, wearing something clearly not of this time period. But she also did not seem very witchy.

“Oh, hello! Are you one of Adam’s friends?” Oh, she was American! Living in a small town in England. Hearing the accent was mildly comforting, a small spot of familiarity to his current life.

“Well, no, actually, I had overheard that you were a witch? And that you did palm readings and I was wondering that...was hoping that you might read mine? That maybe you could tell me where I need to go next?”  

Anathema can’t just leave this kid out on the stoop, and she can only sense that he came from a good distance away. How did this American kid end up here? Was he from the army base? Can’t be, that’s too close. She invites him in, and reassures him it’s ok, she has tea made and guests over, and a phone if he has to call his parents. 

It’s a cozy place, and there are three people already sitting in the kitchen, a younger man stammering on about car maintenance, and two older looking men, one who is casually reading and sipping his tea, and the other who is trying to give the suggestion to just get a better car, honestly, please for the safety of everyone in England.

But of course Warlock INSTANTLY recognizes the older man with the sunglasses resting on his forehead. “Nanny?” he says, out of pure shock.

And his Nanny goes from mildly slumped to sitting straight up, turning around to see the young boy. “Warlock?” He can’t not try to hide from the child he helped raise. Warlock rushes directly into his Nanny and hugs him while starting to sob, unable to breath but needing so desperately to tell Nanny what had happened, and of course Crowley can’t NOT hold him back, gently cooing at his godson to calm down and breath, rubbing a small circle into his back. Anathema and Newt have No Idea what is happening, and Aziraphale has to try to explain quietly some of the details without giving his and Crowley’s whole “Some babies got swapped and we’re also not human” thing. 

Once Crowley is able to calm Warlock down enough, Warlock says everything that happened; the DNA test, learning that the Dowling’s weren’t his real birth parents, hoping that he could find his real ones, that maybe they still wanted him or that they loved him more than his adopted parents. Crowley’s heart breaks at seeing him so distressed, and begins to understand how the swapping ended up, after 13 years now. That the Young’s son was given to the Downlings, and that the Antichrist was given to the Youngs. He would figure out where the Dowling’s birth son was one day, but that wasn’t nearly important at the moment.

Newt, not reading the room terribly well, notes that Adam’s last name is Young. Everyone else gives a small look reading “Really? Right now? We cannot get this poor boy’s hopes up.” Warlock is so close to meeting his real parents. They are right here, in town, his Nanny and Gardner and this nice witch know them.

Warlock begs to see them, and while everyone is stammering to figure out the right way to approach this, Aziraphale suggests they all go over together. Like a support group for Warlock. To make sure he is ok, no matter what happens.

So they head over and Mr. and Mrs. Young are very confused at the appearance of this young boy. And after Warlock tells the story to the Young parents, before Anathema, Newt, Crowley, or Aziraphale can say anything, start even a fabrication to explain how the tests clearly show that Adam AND Warlock are their sons, Mr. Young begins talking.

“You know, there was something odd that night, when Adam was born. I wasn’t allowed to be there for his birth, but when I went in after, there were two babies. I had asked if we actually had twins and the Nun had reacted, well, looking back I would say rather odd. You don’t think...”

And Mrs. Young was in far too much pain and far too tired and on medicine to even recall the birthing process. “I mean...it’s possible. But why would they separate them? And then swap him for the son of an American Ambassador? They were a tad weird, those nuns, always up to something a bit satanic.”

And without anyone else trying, Mr. and Mrs. Young just accept that they had really had twins, and that the hospital was run by a weird cult posing as nuns who did some WEIRD things on the day Adam and Warlock were born. 

Warlock is so happy there was an answer to where he came from. That he has a whole brother to get to know, that after not seeing his Nanny or the Gardner from the age of Ten that he is able to see them again. His adopted parents had thought that having a Nanny for too long would harm his growth somehow, that he would not be able to fend for himself, and had let her go. And wherever his Nanny went, the Gardner went as well.

Mr. and Mrs. Young agree that Warlock should stay for dinner, but that they HAVE to contact the Dowling’s. No matter what happens later, at that moment, they are still Warlock’s legal guardians, and also members of the AMERICAN GOVERNMENT. The last thing anyone needs is for the U.S. to start busting down doors looking for a child that isn’t lost.

Warlock isn’t glad about it, but understands. And he just, asks questions. He wants to know everything, and the Young’s aren’t the most exciting people ever, but it starts getting late and Adam comes home and is mildly confused at first, because there are a lot of people in the house. But he’s a smart kid, he can catch on as to what is happening, knows that this other kid in the house must be the one that he had been switched out for.

Warlock is thrilled to meet his “brother,” so curious about his world, and Adam is smart enough to play along for the moment, just until he can ask the angel and demon the nitty-gritty details.

Mrs. Dowling pulls in a few hours after dinner, worried sick about him, because he UP and VANISHED without their knowing. Mrs. Dowling talks briefly with the Youngs, because there has to be all sorts of issues that this revelation would cause. As well as the fact that the child Dowling gave birth to is just somewhere in the world, with luck.

Before Mrs. Dowling takes Warlock back to their home, Warlock makes sure to get the Young’s number, as well as Crowley’s cellphone and Aziraphale’s shop number. Warlock needs people right now, needs to know that he can call for help, or to spend a weekend or holiday somewhere if his parents continue to prioritize work over him. He knows legally, he’ll be under the care of the Dowlings until he is old enough, but until then, he can at least start building a family that loves him

[pengychan]

[Good Omens] Winging It - Ecclesiastes 12:7

Summary: Shockingly, attempting to destroy an angel without consulting God first comes with consequences. There is more than one way to fall, and a thousand more ways to inconvenience an angel and a demon who just wanted to be left in peace. Characters: Gabriel, Crowley, Aziraphale, Beelzebub, Michael, Uriel, Sandalphon Rating: T  

Prologue and all chapters are tagged as ‘winging it’ on my blog.

A/N: I probably apologized already in the previous chapter but let me do it again. Sorry.

***

“What are you doing here?”

“What am I doing here? You are the one who just showed up, entirely uninvited--”

“Gabriel called me here, and-- oh, am I supposed to believe you’re here after receiving an RSVP card?”

“Gabriel and I have a deal, meaning I can come and go as I please!”

“Liar.”

“That I am, but not over this. I take deals very seriously.”

“Gabriel would never do something as stupid as accepting to make a deal with you!”

“... You really are forgetting him, aren’t you?”

“What-- how would you know--”

“None of your business.”

Michael trailed off and gave Beelzebub a cold, cold glare. “You shouldn't push me. It was me to cast you down, and--”

“That was then and this is now,” the Lord of the Flies sneered. “You know you cannot touch me until the War starts. I am above you. What was that you said when we had that little discussion over Moses’ corpse? The Lord rebuke you, was it? You couldn’t even tell me to my face I was being a pain in the ass. You wanted mommy to do it for you.”

“You were being something worse than a pain in the ass, I assure you.”

“I’m the Prince of Hell,” Beelzebub informed her. “I put my Mark on Gabriel because he allowed me.” No need to add the little detail that it was that or watching his mortal friend die before his eyes. It would kind of ruin the argument they were trying to make. “Which is more than what you did, I see. You must have Marked him too, or else you would not have been called here when he simply spoke of calling you. And I bet you didn’t ask his permission.”

Michael said nothing at first, her mouth pulled in a tight line, and Beelzebub knew they had guessed right. Still, she attempted to deflect. “Don’t you presume to know how we operate. We--”

“Let’s ask him, then. Hey, Gabriel, did you even know they had Mark-- huh. Where is he?”

“Gabriel?” Michael called out, looking around the empty bathroom before taking a few steps towards the door - and rolling her eyes when Beelzebub squeezed through first, though she didn’t comment on that. “Where are you?”

There was a noise from another room, clinking glass and something being poured. Beelzebub had a fairly good guess of what was going on before they even saw Gabriel; judging from her puzzled look, Michael had yet to catch up. 

“... What are you doing?” she asked, watching as Gabriel poured some rather strong-smelling liquid into a glass on the desk. Beelzebub suspected she was not familiar with it but she could, at least, tell it was not water. Their eyes shifted to the clock on the wall. Six thirty in the morning. Not a good going which, in their view, wasn’t a bad going at all.

“At least he’s not screaming,” Michael muttered, probably more to herself than to anyone else, as Gabriel brought the glass of gin to his lips and threw back his head, emptying it in one gulp. He put the glass back down on the desk before he drew in a deep breath, breathed out, and finally turned. 

The first thing Beelzebub noticed was that he was pale as ash. The second was that he was trembling, but he folded his hands in front of him to hide it and straightened himself. 

“Michael,” he said, his voice just a little too shaky to really come across as the polite calm he was probably trying to convey. But yes, at least he wasn’t screaming and hiding behind Beelzebub. They found that just slightly disappointing. 

Michael smiled, if hesitantly. And Beelzebub had never seen the archangel Michael hesitate before anything. “Gabriel,” she greeted him back. “It’s good to see you.”

“... I am afraid I cannot return the sentiment.”

The briefest twinge of something on Michael’s face, quickly suppressed. If Beelzebub had hoped to see her pained, they were sorely disappointed. Actually, they had hoped to see her pained and they were sorely disappointed. 

She forgot too much about him to care anymore, they thought. She wants to, but doesn’t know how or why she ought to. 

If that was the case, it had to at least bothered, but nothing showed. Instead, Michael folded her hands in front of her - was that a thing archangels did? - and spoke calmly. 

“I understand. What kind of assistance do you need?”

Oh no. This was Not Happening. 

“None that Hell cannot provide,” Beelzebub snapped, scowling up at Michael. “You were called here by mistake.”

Michael barely glanced down. “Perhaps I can start by getting rid of the fly infestation in your home.”

Oh no she didn’t. “We both know you cannot lift a finger on me,” Beelzebub buzzed furiously. Above them, the lights flickered. Gabriel took another shot. “But if you wish to have a go, then I’ll make you regret--”

“Cut it out. Both of you.”

Michael and Beelzebub both turned to look at him; Michael’s expression unreadable, Beelzebub’s nothing short of stunned. Had he gone insane, or had the alcohol gotten to his head that quickly? He’d never dared to presume he could order them around like some underling when he’d been an archangel - what had gotten in his empty head to think he could even think of doing so now, that he was a powerless mortal they could crush with a snap of their fingers? They narrowed their eyes. 

“I’m sorry,” Beelzebub said. “I think I might have heard you wrong. You get a chance to repeat yourself and convince me I did not just hear what I think I heard, because if I did you must be lacking even the most basic sense of self-preservation humans are supposed to--”

“Please.”

Being cut off, even by a polite please, was not something Beelzebub was used to or willing to tolerate; first they said their piece and then others were allowed to plead, possibly for mercy. However this time - this once - they forced themselves to breathe in, breathe out, and speak as calmly as possible.

“We’ll address that once you’re in Hell beneath me,” they said through gritted teeth, entirely ignoring Michael’s glare and muttered protest it was never going to happen, like she had a say in it. “Either way, there is no point nor reason to ask Heaven to intervene. If it’s not in Hell--”

“It was you to suggest I try asking them.”

Yes, but not with Michael standing right here. This is humiliating. And for Satan’s sake, quit cutting me off before I give your stupid tongue a fifth-degree burn.

“Asking us what?” Michael spoke before the Lord of the Flies could voice their displeasure and, to their annoyance, Gabriel immediately turned his attention from them to Michael. 

“There is a mortal whose whereabouts I need to know,” he said, his voice remarkably firm. “She may be either in Hell or Heaven, but Hell has been unable to locate her folder--”

“You asked Hell to look something up for you?”

“... I asked Beelzebub specifically.”

“You could have called for us any moment--”

“I did now.”

Michael still seemed stunned, but after a deep breath, she decided to drop the matter. “So-- Hell misplaced her folder?”

A few moments of furious buzzing. “We misplaced nothing! It doesn’t exist!” they snapped, and the light flickered again.

Gabriel took another shot and put the glass down. “I’d appreciate you not doing that. I have just changed the lightbulb--”

The lightbulb shattered. Michael rolled her eyes, and snapped her fingers. The lightbulb put itself back together. 

Then shattered again. Put itself back together. Shattered again. 

“I can do this all day.”

“Do you realize how ridiculous this is?”

“It is evil.”

“It is ludicrous.”

The lightbulb put itself together. Shattered. Put itself together. 

Gabriel took a shot.

***

“... Wasn’t Daniel supposed to be starting the shift with us?”

“I’m not talking to you.”

“Are you serious?”

“Cream! In carbonara! On Christmas Eve of all days! Stab me in the heart, why don’t you!”

“Fabrizio, can you try not being dramatic for-- whatever. Rajiv! Wasn’t Daniel going to start the shift with us today?”

“That’s what the board says.”

Łukasz Wójcik was a good man, but not a saint, and all good men have vices; Łukasz’s own was that he swore. A lot. In all three languages he knew. To be fair, being one forklift operator short right at the beginning of the shift was an excellent reason to curse. “Skurwysyn.”

“What does that mean?”

“What, speaking with me again all of a sudden?”

“Vai a farti fottere.”

A sigh. “Whatever that means, fair,” Łukasz muttered, reaching for his phone. Maybe he’d overslept, happened to the best of them. He called Daniel’s number. It rang… and rang… and rang… and then the call ended. No reply. 

That was… odd, but maybe he’d forgotten the phone on silent mode. Maybe he was in the shower and couldn’t get to it. Trying to ignore a bad, bad feeling making the hair on the back of his neck stand on end, Łukasz selected Gabriel’s number and brought the phone to his ear.

***

“Hello?”

“Gabriel, it’s Łukasz. Are you still home?”

Gabriel glanced up at the clock on the wall as, above him, the lightbulb shattered to come together again. Ah, look at that, he was going to be late and he hated being late. Or at least, he hated the thought: he had never, in his entire existence, actually been late for anything. “I’m heading out now, is something the matter?”

“Oh, good. Can you check on Daniel - he’s only a few doors down, no?”

He was; the accommodations their job offered were all in the same building that had once been a hotel. Each of them had their own room and bathroom, plus a small extra room that with some imagination and good space management could pass off as a living room. The shared kitchen, dining room and laundry facilities were downstairs. “He is-- is something the matter?” Gabriel frowned. “He was supposed to start the first shift with you.”

“I know, but he’s not here and he’s not answering the phone. May very well have left it in silent mode, or can’t hear it, you know he sleeps like a log. Can you check before coming in at work?”

“Of course. I will do that,” Gabriel said, and ended the call, not overly concerned. He probably had caught a cold, a few colleagues had before and it had been an absolute nightmare to manage the schedules. Gabriel himself had been able to avoid that special brand of unpleasantness, but he suspected he was likely to succumb before winter was over. He put the phone back in his pocket, sighed, and turned to face the Prince of Hell and Archangel currently having a playground fight, all while managing to both look extremely professional and solemn.

Tempted as he was, he did not take a shot.

“Enough. You’re making me late for work,” he said, causing both of them to turn to him, again, it almost concerning synchronicity. Beelzebub raised both eyebrows, making it clear that they considered his statement to be one of the dumbest things they had ever heard. Michael, on the other hand, nodded in complete understanding. 

“Of course - I won’t keep you,” she said, snapping her fingers and fixing the lightbulb once more. This time, Beelzebub did not shatter it. “Who is this mortal you need us to find?”

It was hard, talking to Michael without trembling; his scars over his shoulder blades ached, and he had to make a conscious effort not to think of when she’d cut his wings off, while the others held him down and he pleaded uselessly for them to stop, for the pain to stop.

Don’t go there. Don’t. Focus on what you need to ask.

“Her name is Alison Brown,” Gabriel finally said. “She was born in Plymouth between 1948 and 1950. I need to know whether she’s in Heaven or Hell - or if her folder can yield any clues as to her current whereabouts.”

Michael nodded. “Seems a simple enough matter. I’ll have someone locate the file for you.”

Beelzebub scoffed. “Spare yourself the work. I’ll get it done first,” they snapped, and before any retort could come they vanished in a burst of fire and sulphur. Michael sighed, and willed the window to open with a wave of her hand. 

“Demons,” she muttered, but her disdain faded when her gaze fell on Gabriel. He liked to think he looked calm and dignified, but his knees felt weak. “... Gabriel, we--”

“I need to go to work,” Gabriel cut her off, his voice dull and distant. She fell silent and finally nodded, expression unreadable. 

“Of course. We will let you know as soon as we have the information you need.”

A crack of thunder, and she was gone. Gabriel breathed out a long sigh, finally relaxing his shoulders; he almost fell into a chair, and he almost took another shot. He did neither, although his tolerance to alcohol had gone up a fair deal and he knew he could take it. 

I have work to do.

It was a reassuring thought, something to hold onto. It was a far cry from the job he used to have, but work it was and few things felt as right by him as knowing he had done what was expected of him, and done it well. It made him feel a bit better as he got dressed and walked out, heading down the corridor and then to Daniel’s door. He knocked.

“Daniel? Are you still asleep?” He waited a few moments, but there was nothing - no answer, nor any kind of sound a man would make approaching a door. Gabriel frowned a little, and knocked again. “Are you there?” he called. Still no answer. Ah, he probably already was on his way to work when Łukasz had called. Within minutes he would probably get another call telling him not to worry, he was in… and he should get a move on, too. So Gabriel almost, almost walked away - but instead he reached for the handle, and pulled it down. The door opened.

I keep forgetting doors are meant to be locked, Daniel had joked once. Too long without one.

The concept of locking one’s door before leaving was something Gabriel had to get used to as well - not like anyone would dream of stealing in Heaven, now that would be ridiculous - so he couldn’t blame Daniel for it. He pushed the door open, and stepped inside, in the dark. No sound - so either he was out, or he was still sleeping. 

“Daniel?”A few more steps, another door, and his hand found a light switch.  There he was, turned on his side under the covers - he must have forgotten to set the alarm. With a chuckle, Gabriel knocked the room’s door. “Hello? Anyone home?”

No answer. He did not stir. He just kept snoring away and-- and-- no, wait, that was wrong. He was not snoring at all. He wasn’t making a sound, he who always snore like a chainsaw. 

“Daniel?” A sudden sense of foreboding gripping his chest, Gabriel called out with a voice he hardly recognized and took a step forward. “Daniel, wake up.”

Nothing. Another step, and he could see his face now, or half of it. Beneath the graying beard he was pale as ash, his jaw slack. The sense of foreboding turned to dread and Gabriel reached out, grabbed his shoulder, tried to shake him. But he was still. He was stiff. He was cold.

“No!” Gabriel barked it out like an order. “Mortal! Awaken! I command you!”

No answer, of course. He was but a mortal himself; he had no power to challenge death, nor had he ever tried before. It was something that happened to humans, he knew, natural as the turn of the seasons. It has never bothered him, because he had never bothered with humans on a personal level. 

It shouldn’t bother him now either - had he been able to think logically, he would have told himself that no real damage was done; that Daniel was not gone, he had simply moved to another plane of existence. Surely upstairs, because he was a good man, but even if not he could use some find a way to have his soul moved to Heaven. He knew he could.

But right there and then, none of it crossed his mind. There was no logic, no rationality - only grief, old as humanity and yet so new to him, dark and cold, squeezing the air out of his lungs. 

“No. Please. No.” His chest shuddered, his face was wet, and Gabriel reached for his phone with shaking, frantic hands. There may be nothing he could do to undo what was before his eyes but he knew someone who could. And would. 

He prayed he would.

***

“... And of course, there should be a garden.”

“Sure there will be. Ever seen a cottage without one?”

“True, true. Plus, it would be a shame not to put my skills to use. I spent years working as a gardener, after all.”

Crowley almost said something about it, but Aziraphale looked so pleased at the thought he chose to bite his tongue and say nothing. The painful truth was that Brother Francis had been an awful, awful gardener: you don’t keep a garden lush by being kind to slugs, snails, and various garden pests - regardless the point about kindness towards living creatures you’re trying to make with the boy you believe to be the Antichrist. 

The only reason why the garden had kept flourishing - and Brother Francis got to keep his job with no need for a literal miracle - was that Nanny Ashtoreth had often snuck out at night, after putting Warlock to sleep, to undo any damage and make sure the plants behaved and kept growing well by subjecting them to a healthy regimen of death threats. 

“By the way,” Aziraphale said casually. “It goes without saying that you are not going to terrorize our plants the way you did with the Dowlings’.”

Ah. All right. So he knew.

Normally, he would have protested that method of dealing with his plants had always worked best, but those were going to be their plants, and he supposed it was only fair Aziraphale got a say on the matter. Still…

“Fine. I’ll just threaten them… once a week.”

“No.”

“Once a month.”

“Crowley.”

“Either that, or you let me arrange your books by color.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Aren’t we supposed to compromise?”

“Not on this, I won’t.”

“Well, how about--” Crowley began, only to be interrupted by the ringing of Aziraphale’s phone. He sincerely hated being interrupted, especially by an ancient piece of junk like that, but this time he didn’t mind terribly - mostly because he hadn’t yet thought up the rest of the sentence. This would give him some time to.

“I am terribly sorry, we are closed toda-- Gabriel?”

Ah. Never mind that, now he hated it again. He rolled his eyes. “Tell him to shove off and--”

“Gabriel, what-- please, calm down-- who died? Oh. Oh dear. You know I am not supposed… it is frowned upon...” a pause as Aziraphale hesitated, some incoherent yelling from the other side, then a sigh. “Yes, I suppose it can’t be bigger than stopping the Armageddon, point taken. I can try. Only a moment.” He pulled the receiver away from his ear and glanced up at Crowley. “I don't have much experience travelling through phone - would you lead the way?”

He blinked. “What’s going on?”

“You’ll see in a few moments,” Aziraphale said, and reached to grab his sleeve; Crowley sighed, but he did what was asked of him - he got himself into the phone, taking Aziraphale with him, leading him. It was  a bit harder to pull off than it would be when travelling between two landlines, but he could manage.

Moments later they both materialized in a bedroom some seventy miles away, and Aziraphale let go of his sleeve. 

“So, what the Heaven is this all abou--” Crowley began, only to trail off when his brain took in what he was seeing - Gabriel on his knees next to a bed, face wet with what he suspected was not rain, and on the bed a human he’d seen before, when Gabriel had taken him to buy him a suit for a job interview Crowley had gotten him. 

Or at least, the body was on the bed. Mr. Daniel Brown had, very obviously, moved on to greener pastures. Or to scorched-back ones, depending on which way his soul went. 

“Aziraphale,” Gabriel was choking out, standing up again and wiping his face. He was clearly trying to sound collected, and failing miserably at it. “You can bring him back.”

“I can try,” Aziraphale said, putting a hand on Gabriel’s arm before he stepped towards the man on the bed. Gabriel stepped back to give him space, giving no sign to have noticed Crowley’s presence at all. It would have been the right moment for a biting comment, but Crowley couldn’t think of any, nor was he in the mood. Not too long ago, he’d felt real grief for the first time, too. 

I lost my best friend.

In the end, he said nothing and watched as said friend - if that was the right term for him - leaned down, rested a hand on the man’s head, closed his eyes, and murmured something.

Nothing happened.

“... I’m sorry,” Aziraphale said somberly, pulling back his hand. The look he gave Gabriel was deeply saddened. “It’s too late, his passing has already been processed. I can’t bring him back.”

Gabriel’s knees seemed to fold, and he Crowley instinctively caught him before he found himself on the floor. “Hey, what gives? You know he’s not really gone, he’s got to be either in Heav--”

“No, no, no, no,” Gabriel choked out, limp in his grasp as Crowley dragged him on the closest chair and dropped him in it. He burrowed his face in his hands. “You don’t understand, he was looking for someone, I was going to find her, I was almost-- if I’d turned to Heaven earlier--”

Crowley had absolutely no idea what he was talking about, but he supposed it didn’t matter. “Don’t think in if-onlys. Really. It’s a bad idea.”

A shaky breath. “It hurts. I don’t understand.”

“It’s grief,” Aziraphale replied, crouching in front of the chair. For a moment, Crowley saw him as he’d seen him long ago - Milan, 1630, comforting people who’d lost family and friends to a plague he’d been powerless to miracle away. Crowley, too, could do nothing. “Don’t try to fight it. Weather it. It will pass, humans deal with it all the time.”

Another shuddering breath, and Gabriel pulled his hands away. He looked at Aziraphale, pained and bewildered in equal measure. “They don’t know that they’re not gone,” he rasped. “Humans. I know, but they don’t.”

“No. Most hope they’re not, others believe it, but no one alive knows it for certain.”

“How do they deal? How do they weather it? I know there is eternity beyond death, and it’s still-- it’s--”

Crowley shrugged. “I don’t know. They just do it. They’re like that.”

Another shaky breath, and Gabriel wiped his eyes with a shaky hand. “I-- I need to call work, tell them-- tell the others, and-- or-- who do I call?” he looked up, utterly lost. “What do I do?”

“One thing at a time,” Aziraphale reassured him, and glanced at Crowley in a mute request. He nodded and, with a snap of his fingers, he put time on hold. Just for a bit. 

Sometimes you just need some time to mourn, and giving him just that cost him nothing.

***

“So, what happened?”

“Something about the heart. It just-- I don’t know. It stopped.”

“Ah, yes. They do that sometimes. One of many design flaws in God’s pet project.”

A brief silence followed. Beelzebub had found Gabriel sitting on the same bench as Christmas Eve by the docks, wrapped in a coat and scarf, holding a cup of coffee in both hands, staring at nothing. The coffee had long since gone cold.

The Lord of the Flies suspected they would get no reaction whatsoever if they set his scarf on fire. They slid down from the backrest to sit next to him, arms crossed over their chest, looking towards the horizon. “... When’s the funeral?”

“I don’t know. Not for a while. They took him to a place called-- I forget.”

“Mortuary?”

“Yes, that. They said they would try to get in touch with his next of kin, but…” A sigh. “I doubt they will find any, if Hell could not.”

That had rather stung, really, having to return to admit that there really was no trace of this Alison Brown from Plymouth in Hell’s records. Now they were not sure whether they hoped Heaven would find something or not; if they did, they would be pissed because that would be humiliating. If they didn’t, they would be pissed because they had no idea what was going on and hated it. For Satan’s sake, how had they gotten into such an all-around annoying situa--

A long, blood-curdling scream cut off their thoughts. Gabriel barely flinched, and turned to look at Beelzebub as they reached into their pocket to take out their phone. “A text,” they muttered, and went to check. A text from Dagon, to be precise. “... Well. If it helps at all, your friend is not in Hell.”

“Oh,” Gabriel said. His flat expression cracked a moment, the barest hint of a smile curling his lips. “Well, that’s-- I’m glad. Thank you for asking on my behalf.”

“Don’t mention it. I mean it, it would get me in trouble or at the very least make me a laughing stock,” Beelzebub huffed, and the sound Gabriel made almost resembled a chuckle. 

“Maybe he has already found his sister. She might turn out to be in Heaven, too.”

“That would be such a sweet ending, I think I may vomit,” was the flat reply. This time, the sound that left Gabriel was definitely that of a weak chuckle. On a normal day, Beelzebub would have taken it as mockery and punished it accordingly. 

That one time, they decided to let it slide.

***

“Nothing? Are you certain?”

“Yes, absolutely certain. We searched the entire archive.”

“It cannot be. Alison Brown, born in Plymouth--”

“Between 1948 and 1950. I guarantee, we have looked. Our filing system if second to none. There is nothing about her, which means--”

“There was never a such person on Earth.”

“Correct. Will you be needing anything else, sir?”

“... Not for now. You may go, thank you.” As the angel left, Michael sat back at her desk, utterly confused. For someone who’d never really experienced it in eons, confusion was becoming an annoyingly constant companion, but she couldn’t help it. 

What she’d just heard made no sense. It made no sense at all.

***

"Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was: and the spirit shall return unto God who gave it." -- Ecclesiastes 12:7

***

[Back]

[Next]

[wildmoonflower]

These dreams are made of tears

Pairing: Bucky x Reader Summary: AU where you share your dreams with your soulmate and yours turns out to be very kind, sad, hurt and insecure Avenger Warnings: Depression, mentions of self-harm, sensitive topic(death), swearing  but also some fluff Warning 2: I got carried away and the word-count ended up being 12K...I'm sorry A/N: This is my piece for writing challenge for @afewmarvelousthoughts on a prompt n.16: 'Don't leave me. Not now.'

@afewmarvelousthoughts Thank You again for understanding my situation of needing longer deadline. I hope You enjoy this :) I also take criticism so I would be really glad for one, it would help my writing :)

With a sharp gasp for air, you wake up with a jerk, pj's shirt drenched in sweat, comforter crumpled at your feet showing rough night. Today, dreams of your soulmate were just as intense as always. With a groan, you sat up on the bed, rubbing your tired eyes. Pink, purple and red light of the dawn was slowly filling your room was not reflecting the mood you were in, tired and so not ready for work. It was clear that restless night was a omen of a shitty day before you. After you got up from bed, you noticed the charger not properly plugged in the outlet, leaving your phone on weak 30%, you were running out of toothpaste with no spare under the sink and coffee taste bad for some reason. You could feel tension in your body slowly add up. 

Dreams of your soulmate were intense tonight, much worse than last few days, which left you wondering what happened that made bloody horrors to come back. Darkness, screams, heavy scent of blood were so strong, so real it made your skin crawl. And yet, the worst was a hand, your hand, covered by black glove, holding a gun. Weight of the gun was unbearable but your hand was holding it tightly, pointed on the blurry figures, that wailed and trashed, faces unknown to you. You couldn't watch anymore but when a cold voice shouted from behind, your hand,  hand of your soulmate rised up, finger pulling the trigger. 

Sound of your phone pulled you out of your reminiscing. "Shit!" You exclaimed, looking at the screen. The alarm that warned you you had last 10 minutes before you have to leave for work has gone off. At this point, you don't have time for make-up, even thought it is usually just a few swipes of mascara and lip balm. As fast as you can, you get dressed in comfortable clothes and sprint out of your small apartment. Working in a Caffee, you were responsible for opening the place after checking if everything is in place, normal start of a week. 

Rounding the corner, you collided with a strong body of a man, making you stumble and if it wasn't for a muscular arms grabbing you by your hips, you would be kissing the concrete. "Woah, easy there." Deep voice sounded from up above, hint of amusement clearly because of your shocked face. Looking up, warm brown eyes stared at you, one corner of the lips turned up, visibly suppressing himself from laughing. 

"I'm so sorry, I wasn't looking." You blurted out, offering apologetic smile to dark-skinned man in front of you. Behind him stood a man with a polite smile. Looking at them, you noticed both of them were in simple jogging clothes, man who you crushed into clearly much more sweaty and tired than his friend, who didn't look even fazed. Your brows creased, their faces were somewhat familiar but before you could place them, your phone beeped again, snapping you out of another trance. "I'm sorry, I have to go to work right now. Once again, please, excuse me." You apologized, running away full speed, giving two men no time to answer, knowing that owner will be already there, most likely in his normal stance of exasperated dad. 

Living in Manhattan, NYC, was mostly nice and relatively calm. Or at least when aliens were not raiding the town in lead of crazed demi-god. The Caffee-ironically named Safehaven-was very close to the Stark Tower, now known as Avengers Tower and when huge portal opened, you were at your shift, ushering small group of customers in the kitchen before a police came and took them to safety. Noticing a small kid, hiding under the table, you went back, not realizing that everybody already left in hurry. Staying in unlocked place was as dangerous as out in the streets, but you took your change in the back-alley, hoping for no monster to be there. And for sure, you heard a crushing sound of breaking glass from inside the shop, followed by a sound of growls and brawl. Not making even four steps further, three Chitauri warriors busted through, shooting at a red-haired woman. By then, you were in full panic mode, almost throwing small boy behind the dumpster just to hide him from the brutal sight in front of you. Unfortunately, the movement drawn the attention of the Chitauri monster. Before you could move a muscle, petite woman kicked the monster from behind, shooting him from a strange stick-like weapon, other staff rolling to your leg. __ "Are you okay?" She asked, calmly wiping the blood from her busted lip as if she just didn't kick ass to a bunch of aliens. You nodded your head, still speechless as you noticed one of the Chitauri get back up, weapon in hand, aiming at red-head's back. Without hesitation, you picked up the staff by your feet and shoot the monster, by some miracle not the woman who barely flinched, just spun on the heel to round-kick the twitching body away. "Well, thank you for that." With a quick stride, she trudged to you, taking the staff from your stiff hands and motioning the boy to come out. "I'm Natasha, nice to meet you." "Y/N, my name is Y/n." Your voice finally came back, shaking your hand with petite beauty before you. "I guess it's me who is grateful. That was awesome." "I guess we are almost even. Let's get you two to safety." With that, Natasha carefully led you to nearest group of police officers, who were shouting orders´. Not long after the centipede-like monsters poured out of the sky, you could see Hulk, Iron Man and Thor take down one and then move towards the Tower. You were nervous, you knew Natasha was out there, risking her life to stop the extraterrestrial madness and sent countless number of prayers to anything, anyone that was above. And sure enough, the talk about Avengers rose, the group of remarkable people, who swore to fight the battles normal citizen never could. 

You were not late, thanks to mad dash you made and your head being in the cloud, you were surprised you were not hit by a car or toppled by a cyclists in rush hour. The owner, Mr. Goodman, indeed stood like a bouncer, watching your arrival with squinted eyes. "Y/N, I hope you have a good reason why my shop is still not ready to be opened? It's a rule that is set to maintain some level of order," Older man looked at you, noticing dark circles under your eyes, deep sigh fell from his lips, "another tough night?" 

"They were...intense." You nodded, apologetic smile on your face. You loved Mr. Goodman, that man took you under his wings and gave you steady job when you couldn't stand pitying eyes of your family and moved out, even helped you find an apartment with reasonable rent. At first, owner looked like a tough criminal, scar on the cheek, hair in a buzz cut and tattoos of various monsters covering both hands. After knowing him, you find out he loves to read, has a passion in brewing coffee and cooking and tends to stray cats and dogs in the back-alley, which gets him into a fight with his wife, who knew they can have only so much pets at home. 

"Nothing I can't handle. Just a minute, I will open the store right away." You quickly changed the topic and begin to work. Mondays, as always, are hectic and first customers comes in with almost zombie-like manners, in desperate need of caffeine. Day was going slow and you could not wait for Jessica, sweet university girl who worked a few hours after school. Lack of sleep was catching up in full force, resulting in strong case of resting bitch-face, which tended to get you in occasional trouble. 

Around 4PM, an hour when shop was the least busy, a familiar face popped in. "Nat! Oh my God, you're back!" You rushed towards black Widow, who smiled let you give her a bear hug, patting your head with her free hand. "When did you came back?" You asked, not noticing other three people standing behind her, watching your interaction curiously. 

"Yesterday, late at night." Male voice replied and a certain archer stood next to Natasha, ruffling your hair. "We said not to worry, if I remember right." He laughed at your attempt to jab him in the ribs. "Missed you too, Y/N/N." "Well, I always worry so I stopped listening to you." You smirked but leaned and gave him a quick peck on the cheek. Shortly after the attack, Natasha came to the shop again, this time with Clint, with who you immediately clicked. You loved the seemingly carefree man, who often acted dumb. You called out the bullshit on that, as you had the chance to witness the wits, quick thinking and impeccable instinct. "I'm glad to see you back, Clint." 

"Stop hogging her to yourself, Clint." Natasha nudged Clint with her foot, putting a hand around your waist and pulled you to her side. "Y/N, this is Sam and James. They work with us. Guys, this is Y/N, the one I have talked about before." She motioned towards two men, who silently watched previous conversation. Your eyes widened at the sight of a man from the morning. 

"Hey, we met this morning." You blurted out, making Sam laugh and extend his arm to you, which you awkwardly shook. Never in your dreams could you imagine meeting an Avenger in such inelegant way. "Sorry, again, for almost manhandling you." Looking behind him, your breath hitched at the sight of the last man, James. Somewhere deep in your stomach squeezed and an unknown feeling washed over you. Man before you was tall, dark hair long and kinda unkept. He was looking at you but because of the cap, you couldn't see his face clearly, just a dim spark in eyes and a few-days-old stubble. His whole body showed exhaustion and some sort of fragility that made your heart skip a beat. Now you have realized all of them had a cap on, trying to conceal their identities, which still surprised you that it mostly worked. "Hi," you said softly and listening to the quiet voice in your head, you made and slow step towards him, extending your hand to him, "nice to meet you. Probably everything she said was a lie." You grinned a little and heard Nat scoff behind you. 

James looked at your hand and shook it in the gentlest manner. "Only the good things and praises." He answered, voice gruff and low. "So, lies." You joked, earning a soft chuckle from him that made goosebumps go crazy on your back. Tracking your eye down, you notice his left arm covered in black glove, while his right hand was not. James shifted on his feet uncomfortably and you stepped back, playing it cool. "So, um, I guess you want to sit down and order. Or is it to-go?" You asked, looking around. 

"We will have it here. We'll take the corner table." Nat jerked her head to the table, around which were no customers. "When do you have your break? Come sit with us." She asked. 

You looked at the clock above the doors. "I can take it right now but I'm sure you guys want to have some quiet and peace for yourse-I wouldn't ask if we wouldn't want you there." She interrupted you, her tone of voice leaving no room for arguments. "Come when you take your things." You rolled your eyes on her, earning a toothy grin that gave you different kind of goosebumps than when James smiled. 

"Fine! Here are the menus, sit down, I'll give you time to pick." You shooed them to their table and went to Joe, another student trying to survive college without starving. "Joe, I'm taking my break, if something is wrong, holler for me." You informed him and took your smoothie from the fridge. Working in a Caffee, after a while, it made your love for coffee decrease a little, finally pushing you to drink something healthier. "Okay, did you guys pick what you want?" You placed down your drink and the sandwich Mr. Goodman made for each of his employees. "I'll take Long Black with three shots of Espresso." James said, closing the menu you've handed him earlier. One glance at Nat and Clint and you knew it was their usual so you turned your attention to Sam, who smiled at you in toothy grin, handed you the menu. "Americano for me." 

After passing the orders to Joe, you finally sat down beside Natasha. "You look awful, Y/N. You look like a panda bear with those bags." She scolded with Clint nodding his head who calmly sipped from a steel cup, most probably his own coffee mix, which one time made you shake for three hours and sweat bullets while shaking like a leaf in the wind. How he was still alive with the amount of caffeine intake without suffering an heart attack, that was beyond you. 

"Speak for yourself, all of you look like you could use some sleep." You said but the pointy look from a pair of assassins told you your distraction didn't work. "I couldn't sleep last night." You sighed silently to Natasha, who too lowered her voice. She didn't bother to tell you that James, who was bickering with Sam, could hear every single word you two muttered. 

"Your soulmate?" All you could do was to let out a bitter laugh:" Of course. My soulmate either loves action movies and relives them in his dreams or he is actually a freaking psychopath or a hitman." You laughed out, sounding little bit hysterical. 

That is how this world worked. Since forever, two people, destined for each other, could see the dreams of one another. It was a strange sensation, as if two different tapes were playing in your head. Your dreams always felt different, as if watched from afar, while the dreams of your soulmate were pulling you in. During the early years of childhood, you had no dreams whatsoever, what nobody took seriously, maybe your soulmate was a little kid still too. But soon, it changed. Nightmares, horrible images filled your nights, leaving the small you terrified, terrified of the world, of people and cruel words behind seemingly kind faces. Just as quickly the nightmares came, they have disappeared, leaving your mind in disarray. You had some peace for a few years, until one night, when you have woken up, drenched in sweat, screaming your lungs out at horrific images . Depression kicked in, leaving your family heart-broken at the sight of a barely teen girl, shivering under the covers. That's how it went, for every few years, the dreams of your soulmate came back, every time making your night living Hell, resulting in insomnia and depression. 

To that, Natasha had nothing to say, just an empathetic pat on the back that made you feel bad. She has confessed that her soulmate died long time ago, as dreams of her other half simply disappeared. Despite that, she never let that define the relationships she had, as you knew of her 'chummy time' with Bruce Banner, as Clint called it, not in front of her, of course. Even after years of friendship and having each other's back, he knew better than to make fun of her or a man, whose problem tends to turn big and green. Forcing yourself to smile, you turned to James and Sam, who were silently bickering about something, catching words 'tin foil man', 'Steve', running' and 'left'. "So," you said, taking a small bite of your sandwich," do you have any missions planned now? Or do you actually have something magical called a leisure time?" 

"Stark is planning a big party tomorrow. Is it considered leisure?" Clint asked, earning a disgusted face from Bucky. "No, it's not, because of course, all big shots are going to be there, trying to get all friendly with him or Captain." Clint mumbled and you huffed a laugh, remembering when he confessed you that only parties most of the Avengers enjoyed were with less people, Avengers and closest friends at the best. 

Nat, suddenly grabbed you hand, big grin on her face made your skin crawl, you already knew you were not going to like what she was about to say. "Day after tomorrow, keep it free." Horror filled your guts as you knew what she was planning. Turning your full attention to red-head beside you, you spouted the first thing that came to your mind. 

"I have something planned already that day." Trying your hardest not to break eye contact, you could feel the sweat slowly build on your forehead, a normal reaction to the pointy look that felt like thousand needles moving under your skin, a reaction that Nat could easily evoke in an instant. Leaning forward in her seat, she squinted her eyes, not uttering a word, you knowing what was about to come. "Okay, I don't, stop doing that." You peeped, making others laugh. "Nobody is going to believe a lie just because you do not break your eye contact. Not moving or blinking is the same as confessing. You also started to tweak your palm. Plus, you are like the worst liar I've ever met." Natasha counted all mistakes while leisurely sipping on her drink. "I'll pick you up tomorrow after your shift, we will go to buy you something that will fit Stark's dress code expectations." 

Despite knowing how annoying Nat found whimpering, you couldn't help it but let a small groan escape your mouth. "Nat," you nudged her with leg, "you know I hate parties, especially with lots of loud and most importantly, unfamiliar people around." "Too bad, I already told Stark you are my plus one." Not so pleasant answer made you sad and annoyed all the same, determined Natasha was harder to stop than an enraged bull. 

Unknown to Y/N, her little quarrel with Black Widow was overheard by Bucky, who couldn't help but feel relieved by the outcome. At least, another relatively normal person will be there, one more person to talk to when Steve or Sam will get called over. He still disliked being at those parties, incessant feeling of being watched and the wall slowly closing in on him still gave him panic attacks, but as he was reminded by Tony, all Avengers must be present, as a form of apology for the damage they caused on the last mission. Watching Y/N as she sprawled herself on Nat, pursing her lips in pouty way, with Sam and Clint telling her they will be there for her, he had a feeling they will find each other at the party when the time comes. "I shouldn't have sit with you." "Too late, Honey."

Stark's idea of small party was something like a 'Nightmare Exclusive' for you. What felt like whole city was before Avenger Tower, either trying to will their way in or simply to catch a glimpse of the mightiest heroes. It was next to impossible for you to get close and you still had your doubts of how you will get through the security as Nat was not picking up her phone. You were no celebrity to be recognized, nor have you ever made it public that you know one of the Avengers. Despite that, as you got close, one of the men, his name tag shown name Hogan, pushed through the crowd to you and bent down a little, helping you hearing him through the cacophony of music, honks of the cars and screaming voices. "Miss Y/L/N?" Your shocked face must have assured him of his right guess as he put his hand on the small of your back, softly pushing you towards the doors. Your face burned bright red as you heard angry whispers of people waiting in the line. "Ignore them. Pompous a-holes will always be a-holes, they should taste what it feels like to be made wait." Happy said, now much relaxed as two of you entered the reception, noise from the outside almost non-existent. 

"Is it wise to talk like that when Mr. Stark is your employer?" You asked amused, already liking the man walking slightly ahead of you. "And, how did you know me?" 

He looked over his shoulder, a small smirk formed on his mouth. "I stand my ground." He mumbled and stopped before the elevator: "Miss Romanoff made it clear she has a plus one and has shown me your picture. "Pushing the button, he turned around and began to leave, helping the men with the chaos outside, "Just ask Friday to get you to top floor." He said over his shoulder and rolled them as he stepped outside, as if to appear taller or scarier, or both. You smiled at the sight, he reminded you of that one uncle who thinks he is big and tough while being a total sweetheart with a slight potty mouth. 

With a soft click, doors opened and you stepped inside. "Umm, top floor, please?" You asked into the space as you noticed no buttons and surely, a female voice answered, making you jump: "Right away, Miss Y/L/N." You chuckled to yourself as you remembered Natasha telling you about A.I Tony Stark created. Elevator was spacious, one side fully covered with mirror, giving you time to check yourself the last time. Your make-up was very light, you never liked to waste too much time in front of the mirror but you felt the pressure to cover yourself a little bit more than usual for this kind of 'once-in-a-lifetime' event and your hair... you were too lazy to do something fancy as you just washed them and attached a few small hairpins. The dress, that was something you would you yourself would never bought if it wasn't for a certain red-haired that occasionally had a scary scowl on her face. One side sleeveless but the material connected to another hand with 3/4 length sleeve, showing off your collarbones. The camisole was tight on the skin and several layers of soft chiffon went down in bit more loose skirt. In soft flow from the knee height, an intricate lace swirled upwards, creating a design of a flowing water from a certain angle. The dress was too much but seeing the way Nat's eyes twinkled, you just hadn't had the heart to say no to her. You were lucky the shop had it in your favorite color and the material was soft and comfortable. You made it very clear to Nat, comfort over style was your motto, you hated uncomfortable clothes with passion. You had a thin necklace on your neck, beautiful thin silver chain with a tiny pendant, a small black widow spider standing on the rose, Nat's present to your birthday. Your wrists were covered by a delicate lacy fingerless gloves that reached about the middle of your forearm, covering the parts of you you have never shown to other people, not even Nat.

"Top floor." A.I, Friday, announced and opened the doors, giving you just enough time to take a deep breath. The room before you was...overwhelming. Tables with food stood against the wall and right next to it was a bar that you knew Nat will dominate later on. Everything looked expensive, even a small pouffes looked more pricey than half of your apartment. Few people were walking around, carrying various stuff, most probably doing the finishing touches before the mayhem begins. Taking a few steps into the room, you immediately gets fascinated with the view. The sun was slowly setting down, painting the sky with many shades of red, blue and yellow, a gentle hue of ending day with a city in the background, slowly waking it's lights. 

You watched the distant skyline, clutching the phone in your hand, still no answer from Nat. It made you remember the parties you went to younger, with the only friend present that later left you to stand on the sides, waiting for them to come back and save you from the awkward standing around. "Can I help you Ma'am?" A deep voice asked from behind you, making you jump as you have not heard any footsteps. Turning around, you are suddenly standing face-to-face with Captain America. Advertisements and pictures did him no justice and as he stood before you in black jeans and navy blue button-down shirt that was a size or two smaller, looking more buff and taller than you imagined from what you saw in Smithsonian. 

His face was calm and polite, a pleasant smile on his face that didn't reach his eyes completely, as they held a slight guarded, careful look. "Uhh," you made your best 'intelligent' sound and took a step back, also because looking him in the eyes was ruining your neck, "I came here for the party. I'm Natasha's plus one?" You stammered, baby blue eyes on you felt like as if you were under an X-ray or hooked to a polygraph. This was NOT how you imagined meeting America's Man from the past and before you had a chance to excuse yourself and bail, another male voice sounded from behind Rogers, this time you knew the deep bass with a warm, fun undertone. 

"Who you got over there, Captain?" Sam asked, appearing on the blond's left, smile widening at the sight of you. "Y/N! Glad to see you didn't back out of this." He exclaimed and gave you a big hug, as if you two were friends for years. "And risk Black Widow's anger to rain upon me? I'll rather handle a few snobs for a few hours." You joked as you hugged Wilson back. Knowing Sam Wilson for three days was enough for you to already like the presence of metal-winged superhero. After you two met, he came to the café again with James, filling your time with stories about Avengers while his friend simply listened, adding a quiet remarks here and there. "So, where is Nat? Or Clint? Don't tell me he is trying to hide in the vents again." 

"He tried but Natasha alerted Stark who clogged the vents from air supply." Another voice said. Just as Captain, James made no sound walking even when dressed in formal boots. "Y/N," he softly smiled in greetings and looked back at his friend, "Stark has something to talk about with you, Steve." When James Buchanan Barnes talked to his hero friends, he talked louder, more confident, so different when he talked to you, so quiet and soft, as if afraid he could frighten or hurt you with words alone. Of course, by now you knew who James was. Obviously you have heard about Winter Soldier but after the Triskelion rising to the skies, you completely stopped concerning yourself with whole Hydra/S.H.I.E.L.D. thing, except keeping the contact with Nat but you trusted her to be careful not giving out who she is nor who you are to her.

  "Evening, James." You greeted the man in return, discreetly eyeing his tall figure. There was no denying he was an eye-candy, dressed in black jeans and similar shirt as his friend, two-days scruff giving him rougher look you can't say you minded. What worried you were huge black bags under his eyes, so similar to yours. Clearing your throat, you turned to Sam who was watching you with that one-sided grin of his that made you roll your eyes. "Sam, can you take me to Nat? I'm going to kill her." You said in serious voice that made Falcon snicker and both Super-Soldiers look at you in shock. 

Putting his arm around your shoulder, he pushed you towards another elevator, this one bit smaller, looking like for more of a personal use. "Sure thing Y/N. Captain, Buck, see you in a bit." He said, calling the elevator, giving you time to turn a bit and wave at two men. "You didn't expect this many people? Don't worry, after two or three hours, it' mostly just Avengers and the closest friends." Sam continued mostly his monologue, another reason why you liked one of the most normal human in this place. "By the way, you look charming, Y/N, Nat went nuts with that shopping." He added, motioning to you, making you chuckle. "Thank you Sam, you don't look half-bad yourself." You returned the compliment but by the glint in his eyes, you knew you will regret saying anything. 

"But it seems you'd rather have someone bit broodier, or older to tell you that?" He teased and burst out laughing when you took a weak swing at him, "Calm it, Wilson, I have a pepper spray and I'm not afraid to use it." You warned him, dangling the small letter-purse in front of you. Sam raised his hands in mocked defense and got out of the elevator, pointing his finger in nearby room. "That's Nat's room, just knock, she should be inside. See you up there." And with that, he took off. 

Looking at Natasha, who was currently putting on heels, you felt under dressed. In her bright red evening gown that shown most of the back and hugged all the right curves of her body, you wanted to rip your dress from your body and bury yourself in her bed, to wait out the party that was about to start. Nat was not satisfied with your make-up and almost tied you to the chair, giving you 'some details' to your face that made you feel like it was not you anymore. 

"Help me with that, please." Nat turned her back to you, holding a thin necklace in her hand, her necklace with a small silver bow, showing her lasting friendship with Clint. Noticing your smile, she rolled her eyes: "Last time I forgot to put it on, Clint was pouting whole day. It was during a mission, it was kind of annoying." 

"Jesus," you muttered and helped her. Despite looking calm, you could see the sparks of joy in Nat's eyes, probably needing some distraction from work and party was exactly what she needed. Slowly, some of that enthusiasm crawled on you and you too, couldn't wait to meet other Avengers. "Miss Romanoff, Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Stark is calling everyone in the main hall, party is about to start." Irish female voice warned you two. The zeal that was emitting from Nat almost shocked you, even after knowing her for a few years, you seldomly saw her break the careful mask completely. She was humming some old russian song that sounded like a nursery rhyme. Sneaking her hand around your hip, Nat

 squeezed you to her, a toothy grin full of enthusiasm lightening her face, pulling you towards the first beats of the music. "Let's go!" 

Meeting rest of the Avengers was going surprisingly smooth. Of course, Tony freaking Stark immediately tried to make you tell embarrassing tales of his two assassins. Thankfully, before you could panic and make a fool out of yourself or Clint and Nat, Pepper Potts came and dragged him away, giving you apologetic smile. You bumped into young looking red-head, who introduced herself as Wanda, and felt the connection almost instantly, not something you could say about the man with her, Vision, whose facial expression and way of talk made you nervous, despite being polite. Behind the bar stood Bruce Banner, polite with sense of humor that lots of people wouldn't notice. And lastly, you were officially introduced to Steve Rogers, who now was much more relaxed. With all that handsomeness and beauty around you, you were feeling overloaded, silently thanking that Thor couldn't attend, you doubted you could handle also meeting a God of Thunder.

Party itself went better than you thought it would. For your biggest relief, not that many people came, or better were allowed in. You were not left alone even for a second, with Nat either sticking close to you, glaring at every older man trying to flirt with you or simply dragging you over to bar to get shots. It was tough, despite the smaller frame, you were already feeling the buzz when she just started, laughing it off to her Russian genes. When Nat was called over, almost immediately, Sam, Wanda or Bucky with Steve appeared by your side.

 It was nice feeling, being around people who seemed so honestly nice. As time went, ices started to melt even more, you finding out more about the human beings that laid behind the masks of superheroes. Bruce was much more crazier than he let on, understandably forcing himself to be calm when around unknown people. Tony Stark... was almost batshit crazy and center of attention all the time, trying to make everyone feel welcome while teasing the heck out of them, while Pepper and James Rhodes, who appeared later with bad jokes, tried to save him from himself. Steve was the 'caretaker' of Avengers, making sure everybody behaves, trying his hardest to keep Sam and James, Bucky as he asked you to call him, apart but failed so as two were bickering like a two true brothers. Clint was a walking disaster but that was nothing new to you, as you have already had the pleasure of taking care of him and Nat, when they appeared in your apartment, smashed drunk. That day, Natasha used all your oils to fill the bathtub and bathe for four hours while singing old Russian songs that gave you chills and Clint pulled water balloons out of nowhere and was sniping misbehaving people from your balcony, screaming something in a sense of 'Caw caw, motherfuckers.' 

Around 1am, it was just you and superheroes sprawled across the room. Now Stark was behind the bar, mixing drinks for him and Bruce, using the fact that Pepper went ahead and went to bed. Bruce was nearby, head in clouds with slightly blushed cheeks and all giggles. The rest were hogging the sofas with Rogers standing behind the couch where Bucky sat with Sam, Wanda and Vision. You were on a smaller sofa, in the middle with Nat's hand wrapped around your shoulders and Clint, whose head was almost in your lap, looking ready to pass out for the night. You were content with the way the whole day went, knowing your dreams could be calm at the best. 

Having nightmares of your soulmate was not the worst thing. Now every night was a hurdle you could often not overcome. Your own dreams were treacherous too, flaring up your depressions before laying to the bed. You didn't know your soulmate but it broke your heart, knowing he won't find the serenity from your dreams neither. Tears often appeared before you fell asleep, fearing what kind of horrors awaitens both of you. But today, your mind was fuzzy with alcohol and you were happy, so happy to have been able to not only meet the heroes of the world, but also the people who made Natasha and Clint often so happy too. 

"Okay, it was a very nice meeting all of you but I think it's time for me to head home." You say aloud, making people turn and look at you. "It's quite late, darling. You can take the room next to Red. Or you can hop in with me." Tony said with a wink, sipping from his glass, ignoring the disapproving look from Steve. You chuckled, the flirtiness levels went up higher with every glass of whatever he was drinking. "Can it Stark, or I'm calling Miss Potts back. I live maybe twenty minutes from here, I will survive." You shot back, shaking your head and as you tried to stand up, two hands stopped you. Looking to your left, Clint was doing a puppy eyes, or better, was trying but the alcohol and sleepiness closed one his eyes halfway, making him look just very high. "Clint, no, don't make a puppy eyes, I have things to do tomorrow." You whined while everyone was laughing at Clint. "Nat, tell him, something, you are the wiser one-why the Hell do you do this to me?!" You exclaimed at the sight of your friend, doing so much better job of looking like a kicked puppy. Just the fact she was trying to look so meek was a clear sign just how much she was actually drunk, 'gonna-puke-and-be-very-grumpy-tomorrow' drunk. 

"That's hot look, Red. Friday, save that look in 'Blackmail' file-" Tony's speech was interrupted as Nat's hand flicked and a soft thumb was a sign the cushion hit the target despite the level of drunkenness. Nat cupped your face, ignoring everybody, smiled and whispered in somewhat sad voice: "Won't you stay tonight? You can sleep with me, Котенок(kitten). I may go for a mission soon." You have never seen Nat so soft and it rendered you speechless, so you could only nod, your eyes widening as she immediately smirked, all tenderness gone. "Natasha!!!" You screamed and pounced on her, huffing in annoyance as she grabbed your hands and pushed you down, sitting on you without a problem. "Why do I keep falling for that face?" You sigh, making everyone chuckle and Clint beside you to get up to his knees, giving you a big kiss on the cheek: "Because you are adorably trusting." 

"Fine! But I'm taking your Captain America pjms." You smile wickedly as she froze, while everybody burst out laughing, only Steve looking anywhere but at your direction with a pink flush on his cheeks and Tony who had hurt look on his face. You gave her those pjs about a year ago and she always wore it on your occasional girls night as a joke. "You just started a war you will not win, Y/N." Clint whisper-shouted at you, getting up, stretching up. "I'm gonna go to bed, you will need all the energy with those two around." That was a cue for most of the Avengers to scatter to their rooms, Tony being dragged by Rhodes, being shut after saying he needs to go to his lab. Bucky too, was half-dragged by Steve, his eyes suddenly tense, giving you tight-lipped smile before disappearing behind the elevator doors, his tension rubbing on you from an unknown reason. You felt happy but who knows what dreams will your soulmate have tonight? 

A pillow landed on your lap, making you almost jump out of your skin. "Come, you little traitor. We have a long day before us." Nat took your hand and pulled you off the sofa, her tight grip showing she could tell what's going on in your head. Elevator slowly opened as you sighed. "Hooray." 

Your hands were tied behind your back, pushed on your knees, eyes glued on the floor. Muffled screams and sniffs beside you made you aware of presence of other people. You were in a... living room, cozy and warm, with lots of pictures of a laughing family, board games stacked in the corner. Or it should be warm and cozy. Instead, a group of three men stood before you, dressed in black, one with a strange muzzle hiding his face. This dream, it was-it was different, the usual mist surrounding the figures was thinner, you could see the cold eyes and cruel smirks on their faces. Coming to you, a man raised his hand, smacking you across the face. "Face down, you shield-rat or I'm gonna pay my attention to your wife more." He growled, kicking you in the stomach, making you tumble over with a cough, the pain ever so real. "We don't take kindly to traitors, Weber, did you really think we didn't have you on our radar, you and your pathetic little family?" Man continued his monologue, stopping in front of a boy, barely in his teens, Weber's-your son. "You and your wife are worthless but we might take your son, after a good wiping, he should make a good asset." He laughed at your wife, who started to trash at his words, enjoying the despair. "Raspopov, enough. Take the boy, we have what we wanted." Second man said in bored voice, as if the malicious scene in front of him was nothing. He turned to the passive man behind him, "Get rid of them and clean this place. And make it slow for him." With that, he walked out of the door, Raspopov behind him with trashing boy being dragged by the collar of his shirt. A pained screams from your left were deafening, your wife tried to scurry her way to her son, only to be pushed down by the third man and without hesitation, a shot through her head made her body go limp. A roar, filled the room, by the scratching pain in your throat you knew it was you, Weber. A hand closed on you, gripping your throat and lift you in the air, fist colliding with your face, bone-shattering pain exploded in your head. This was new, never before you felt the pain, the anger and sadness so strongly. The blows were coming and coming, your body broken, thrown on the floor. Boots came in your line of sight, black combat boots were going to be the last thing you will ever see before you heard the cock of a gun. Silently begging for this to stop, you looked up, staring at you were two blue eyes, filled with equal pain and sadness, when the shot turned everything around you into a blackness. 

"Good morning." Natasha chimed at Steve and Bucky while pouring herself a cup of coffee. Super soldiers nodded their head, gulping down the water, still breathing hard from the morning run, while Sam looked ready to die, almost hugging the doors to the kitchen. "Y/N?" Sam squeezed in between the deep breaths, ignoring Bucky who was smirking at him. "Still asleep. I almost didn't get out, she is like an octopus, she wraps around you and drain your warmth until satisfied." She shaked her head. They ended up sleeping together, you wouldn't have Nat sleeping on the sofa and you wouldn't either since she made you stay a night. 

A groan entered the room with Clint, who looked like he was up the whole night. "I need a caffeine." He almost whimpered. Without missing a beat, Nat pushed his giant mug towards him, already filled with his share of coffee. "I hope you bunch didn't leave coffee beans in the sink again. I'm getting real tired of it." Tony entered the room, cranky as every morning with a mark of keyboard on his face he laid on. "Where is our cute guest?" He asked, pondering if to mix his coffee with a bit of whiskey. 

"Not a morning person. I let her sleep since she seemed to be calm-Miss Romanoff" She was cut by Friday, A.I voice pressing. "You are urgently needed in your room. Mrs. Y/L/N is suffering a severe nightmare." The message left the room in total silence, Natasha and Clint sprinting out in a second, before even Tony could open his mouth. 

"Friday, put on the screen and alert Bruce, we might need him." Tony ordered, no trace of fun in his voice. A touch screen rose from the table and revealed the image of a room. Rays of sun lightened the room in pink and orange hue, giving everything happy-go-lucky vibe. A very strong contrast to the sight on the bed, where Y/N laid, trashing around, a blood-curdling screams escaping her lips. "Jesus. I'm going there." Sam shot out, his knowledge in traumas and PTSDs giving him better outlook of what could help. On the screen, a door shut open, Nat and Clint sprinted towards the trashing friend, immediately taking her in her arms, Nat looked at Clint. "Get the wet towel and a bucket or something." She shouted, wincing when one flailing hand hit her just bellow the neck. "Y/N/N? Y/N, wake up, Котенок. It's okay, shh, you are safe." She cooed, the sound of her voice seemed to calm you a slightest bit. Taking a towel from Clint, she gently patted it against your forehead and down your neck, collecting the sweat you were drenched in. With a whimper, you woke up, gasping for air while pushing your hand to your ribs, as if she was in pain. 

"No, please, no, no no no no." You cried, eyes darting around the room, not focusing on anything, trying to pry away from Nat's embrace. You whimpered again as Clint took a step in front of you, taking your hands in his, giving them a squeeze. "Y/N/N, love, it's okay, it's just us. Look at us." He said in soft but resolute voice. "They killed them, Weber....that man, he took their son and kicked me and my wife...Raspopov punched me..." You blabbed, not making any sense, your mind still trapped with image of Weber's dead wife bleeding on the floor, blood and tears soaking in the carpet. Your cheek was slightly hit by a wet cloth, snapping you out of your trance, your eyes moved to Natasha, who held a dripping towel in her hand. "Don't talk, Маленький(Little one). Just breathe." She said, brushing your hair from your face. "I'm going to puke." You gagged and heaved over the bed, just in time for Nat to push the bucket in front of you, emptying your stomach. At the same time, Sam and Bruce arrived, rushing to your side. All four of them worked their way around you, Clint cleaning up the mess while Nat and Sam talked to you in hushed, soft voices, Bruce checking you pulse, eyes and temperature. 

The kitchen was silent. Tony and Steve stood side by side, both face filled with worry and pity. "Well, so much for a calm morning. Must suck, having unstable psycho for a soulmate." Tony stated, his voice much more silent, his knuckles white from the strength he was gripping his hands, remembering the time of his own nightmares which he used to wake up to, mixed with cries and panics of Pepper. Steve just nodded, his eyes found Bucky, eyebrow creasing. "Buck, are you okay?" He asked, gripping his friend's shoulder, taking in Bucky's horror-filled eyes, pale face and shaky figure. Nightmares were almost a constant visitor of Bucky's and he never took it well when anybody else had the same problem. "Buck! Breathe!" Steve shook his friend and looked in his eyes as he whispered: "Those names." Bucky breathed in as if he was sucker-punched in the stomach. Steve's face was confused for a second, eyes widening at his best friend when he realized his words. 

"Buck," he took him by arm, dragging him out, ignoring Tony's curious eyes, "do you know those names?" Putting his hand over his mouth, Bucky muttered, sounding nauseous and broken. "Raspopov was Hydra's main interrogator. Worse version of Rumlow. Weber was S.H.HI.E.L.D.'s double agent." Bucky raised his eyes in Steve's, self-resentment and disgust making Steve unable to react, "I killed him and his family." Before blond super-soldier could say something, the dark-haired one gripped his shoulder with his metal hand, enhancing the need in his eyes. "Steve, she can't know. Promise me, you will not tell her who I am!" His deep voice breaking at the thought, he could see the fear and disgust the second you would find out. 

For so long, Bucky thought he never had a soulmate. Back in 40's, he was heartbroken as he never experienced the feeling of sharing his dreams that everyone described. To diverse his mind from the pain in his heart, he dated a lots of girls, later watching as some of them met their soulmates, or how they left him in hope of meeting their destined one. Then his enlistment came, changing his life to a swirl of pain and years of emptiness. He still remembered so vividly the first time his dreams was not his only. Even the wiping chair couldn't stop his excitement when the swirling rainbow of colors and shapes appeared in his dreams and pure feelings, feelings of love, happiness, even repeating felling of hunger and soft anger made him snap out of his Winter Soldier trance. The beating he got that day almost killed him but he didn't care, his last thoughts before he was shoved into the chair was of his soulmate, his little soulmate who was just born, the feeling so strong he cried the first time in forever. And that little nub of happiness was his, regardless of number of wipings he went through. The dread and guilt he felt when he woke up the first time to the nightmare full of violence and pain and desperation, the nightmare that was not his and yet so similar, made him so sick even Stark looked mildly concerned. 

Disagreeing look on Steve's face was not a good sign, he knew 'the talk' was coming and rose to his feets, taking his leave. "Her knowing is not going to change anything, so I why not prevent the bigger heartbreak?" Bucky said bitterly. "That decision is not yours alone, Buck, she deserves to know. She might understand." Steve called after him but he met just silence. A presence behind Steve made him turn around, cold sweat breaking out as he noticed Tony standing in the doorway, his typical smirk somewhat bitter-looking. "Tony." Steve's warning tone was once again met with silence as Tony zipped his mouth with his hand, a gesture completely and painfully pointless when it came to Tony. Sighing, Steve ran a hand down his face. "You've got to be shitting me." 

Exiting her room, Nat stopped as Bucky turned around the corner, strange look in his eyes. "How's-how's Y/N?" He asked, looking somewhere above her eyes. "Bruce took her to infirmary, alcohol, puking and sweating made her heavily dehydrated so he will put her on IV drip. And give her something to calm down." Nat answered, eyes boring in Bucky's, making him squirm, even the former assassin couldn't help but be nervous being under Black Widow's radar. "She is suffering from nightmares long before I have met her and she tells me her dreams. If she will ever meet her soulmate and it will be some sadistic asshole, I'm most probably put a bullet through his brain." Nat's voice was casual, if not a little bit cold and her eyes were shining, challenging Bucky to say the truth she had a hunch about. 

"What are the chances she will meet him?" Bucky asked bitterly and turned back around, turned his back to the person he wanted but didn't deserve.

Few days passed after the party and your sleep-over faux pas. Apologizing profusely while leaving, everybody just waved it off, only asking about your health, Stark looking like he wanted to say something every time you made a short visit but changed his mind, unknown to you, due to James or Steve sending a death glare his way. Nightmares didn't stop, even got worse in some sense as now, as you guessed, they mixed with your own and the man with muzzle now killed your new made friends, making you call Nat and Clint more than ever. James started to come to your work more often too, sometimes with Sam in a tow, his big blue eyes full of concern that warmed your heart. Faint voice in your head seemed to always try to tell you something when tall super-soldier was around but you ignored it, something in you not wanting to hear it out, reveling in the ignorance. 

Days turned to weeks and Tony invited you to another party, Avengers and friends only. From Nat, you knew it was his way how to lift the mood in the Tower after a recent bad mission that made even Clint snarky and that was something you have rarely seen. Despite the circumstances, you gladly went. You liked being around Avengers, their friendship that went beyond just having each others back made the atmosphere around them warm. And you would be lying if you would say that you didn't miss a certain brown-haired soldier. 

With Nat going to missions more than often, Bucky now was your safe heaven, he was a smooth talker once you get to know him and his deep voice always made you forget your dreams, at least for a while. He told you about himself a lot, leaving the gruesome Hydra parts, but just as he never forced you to talk about your dreams, you never asked him more about his times as a asset. More than once have you thought he was your soulmate, more than once have you bit your tongue, stopping yourself asking the words. It wouldn't change anything, a person like him needed somebody stronger, less pathetic by his side, you thought, angry and disappointed at yourself. He wouldn't need a woman who became broken from the dreams of someone else. 

The party was held on the Friday night. Your bag was little heavier, prepared for the sleepover you knew you couldn't escape, not with Nat and her screenshot of a fancy bottle of Gin for you and Vodka for her she'd sent you. Getting in the Tower was not a painful procedure to you anymore, as now you were known by every receptionist and Friday, whom you asked to call you Y/N, now opened every door without asking and you were finally not jumping as a frightened cat every time she talked. The mood upstairs was better than you expected, most likely because a Norse demi-god was in the room, booming loud voice cheerful. You had met Thor before and even though Bucky was slowly taking over your mind, it was hard not to stare at the tall blonde who stood with his hand thrown around Tony's shoulder, making him look almost tiny. 

"Lady Y/N!" Thor called, making everyone turn their attention to you. Smile creeped on your face as a wave of greetings came your way, Natasha immediately handing you the glass that almost instantly burned your eyes a little and a quick peck on the cheek. Coming closer, Thor bent down and gave you a bear hug, all air leaving your body. "I was told you were coming tonight. How are you?" Above his slouched shoulder´, you noticed Steve, Sam and Bucky standing nearby, Sam and Steve looking at Bucky, who was watching you, smiling as your eyes met, repaying the small wave you sent him with your free hand. "Quite normal, Thor, just bit tired. How's space?" You laughed breathlessly, tapping his side to let you go. "Space is fine, feasts of Lithasblot are beginning soon. Or, midsummer, as you Midgardians call it." He smiled, taking a sip from his drink, from which even from afar, you could pick up the strong, very strong smell of alcohol. 

Going around, you made a quick circle around the room to say your 'Hi' to everyone, until you came to 'army group'. Nudging Bucky to the side, you grinned at the cup in his hand. "I thought alcohol has no effect on super-soldiers?" You asked, small 'oompf' escaping you as you took a sip from your own glass. "It does not but Thor brought some of his Asgardian stuff." He laughed, scrunching his nose in the most adorable way that made you stare. He was not laughing enough but with the brainfarts it gave you when he did, maybe it was a good thing. "Will we see you and Steve wasted tonight? Cuz I bet Stark is ready to record it anytime." You said slowly, trying to change your focus to his eyes, not making it any better. Maybe it was the alcohol but the usual soft blue was almost gone, replaced by darker shade that made your stomach twist. "Everybody needs a good bender every now and then. I just missed mine for couple of decades." He joked and as he said, even that barely noticeable tension that hung around the room was gone. "Then, cheers to occasional 'benders'. You mused, downing your drink and took Sam's offer to get you another one. 

The night was flying by fast. Around 1am, there was not a single sober person, Bruce excluded, who watched from behind the bar with drunk Nat. At the spur of a moment, Tony challenged you to a dance-off, in which you totally destroyed him, surprising everyone, just Nat and Clint knowing that once you have alcohol in you, you dance without the care of the world around you. Around 3am, everyone stood around the table, watching Thor and Steve arm wrestle. Steve was holding on pretty good but the game was over when the table below them gave up and broke. Around 4:30am, right after Tony was trying to do mini striptease on the table, some more clever people, Sam, Wanda, Vision, Bruce and surprisingly Steve, who looked pumped up and more relaxed than you've ever seen, called it a night and went to bed. Clint was already asleep, curled below the other table, while Tony was taking pictures of him in weird angles, eyeing the sharpie on the table. Thor was talking with Bucky on the balcony and you were now behind the bar, poking Nat in her cheeks, trying to make her drink some water because hungover Nat the next morning is not a pleasant experience. Helping her lay down on the couch, you massaged your eyes, big yawn foretold you about the coma you will have once in the bed. Your senses were still numb and slow as a warm hand landed on the small of your back. 

In greyish light of the early morning, Bucky was smiling at you, eyes soft and much more focused than you thought they would be after the amount of Asgardian alcohol he and Steve downed. "C'mon. Let's get you to bed," he whispered. Looking around, you must have dozed off as now you were sitting next to the sofa, no sight of Thor and Tony was sleeping on the bar counter, Nat dead to the world, curled in a small ball. Standing up, your legs wobbled, resembling a newborn fawn. "My legs fell asleep." You giggled, obviously still drunk. 

Bucky smiled down at you, your wobbly form trying to get up from the floor, so vulnerable and weak on it's own way. After that night, when he realized you are his soulmate, the dam in his heart began to crumble, the need to be around you stronger everyday. So many times he had to bite his tongue to stop himself from saying the words he told Steve to never utter in presence of others. The pain in his soul was slowly becoming unbearable, seeing your eyes losing their gleam each time night hour approached, every time dreams and soulmates were discussed. 

"Raise your hands, doll." His little pet name didn't seem to faze you, as your hands shot up towards him immediately, her face pretty despite the dark circles under her eyes. Your body fitted his perfectly, your head right below his chin as he held you in princess hold, like two pieces from the same broken statue pressed together once again. Bucky's heart skipped a beat when he caught a whiff of your smell,. He couldn't identify the sweet scent but he could say with clear conscience it was the best smell he ever smelled. 

Elevator down was quiet, occasionally filling the silence were your consent hums as you laid in Bucky's arm, half asleep. Bucky's footsteps still silent as he entered Natasha's room. Your body relaxed at the familiar scent of Nat's bed as Bucky took off your heels. "Don't fall asleep yet, doll." Bucky whispered and playfully pried the comforter from your hands as you tried to cover your face, loud giggled bursting from beneath the thin cloth. 

Quiet shuffling on the other side of the comforter told you Bucky left the bedroom, clanking noise from the bathroom made you stick out your head, watching him put down the bucket next to the bed and glass full of water pushed towards you. 

"I'm not that drunk." You said kicking off the comforter from you, only making it tangle around your feet. Looking up in annoyance, you almost stopped breathing at the sight of Bucky with the softest smile, crouching next to the bed. "Drink the water, dolly, you'll thank me later when you wake up." He pressed the cold glass in your hands. "Nat is keeping some Advil in the nightstand if you need it later." It was impossible to miss the care in his eyes and as you downed the drink, you followed his figure as he went to get you another one, shamelessly eyeing his muscular back, narrow hips with killer legs. Bed sheets were deliciously cool against your hot skin, snuggling in, you felt the sleepiness take over. Last thing you felt was a gentle hand tugging the hair out of your face and inaudible voice wishing you a good night. 

You were riding a motorbike, rear lights of a car a few meters ahead of you. Your mind was set on the mission, hydra's officer's words resonating in your head: "Eliminate the target and obtain the package they carry. No witnesses, seemingly an unfortunate accident." The voice of the handler cold, emotionless, pure poison and cruelty in a form of a voice, so different from your own pain and refusal in your soul, in your heart. And yet, your head slightly nodded, turning around your body towards the armory. The sound of a speeding bike is replaced by loud breathing, short, pained gasps for air and distant cries, a woman's voice calling the name of bloodied man lying on the ground, his name filling you with confusion and guilt and another pain. "Sergeant Barnes?" Your breath hitched in your lungs, hand pulled behind ready to strike before orders flowed in your head again and your fist collided with his face and twice more, blood splurting from the face, man fell down, motionless. Pain got worse, stomach twisting so much it felt like a knife pierced through, your own voice screaming inside the head, you fought against the power that made your legs move, long steps around the car. Reaching to the passenger seat, your hand grasped on the petite throat, squeezing- 

"NO!" You shouted, breathlessly looking around the room, gasping for air as bright Sun blinded you. Sudden change of surrounding left you speechless, never before could you escape the dream by your own will, always forced to see till the very end. 

It was morning, not early enough to make you fall back asleep and not late enough to make you feel bad of wasting a day dawdling around in bed. Sickly sweet-sour taste in your mouth and persistent thumps in your head reminded you of your another alcoholic lunacy with Avengers. You sighed as your eyes landed on the pills with a water nearby. With tight jaw, you reached for them, setting your mind on the sudden goal. You were gonna talk to Bucky today, no more tip-toeing around. 

Bigger part of Avengers was already up, even though some of them probably wished they were not, seeing Nat's and Tony's, even Steve's red eyes and groans that followed every loud noise. Bucky was standing next to Sam at the door entrance, both snickering at Steve, not even trying to hide their amusement. His tired blue eyes darkening in worry as you strode in, waving your greetings, your eyes finding his immediately. 

"Bucky, can I talk to you?" You asked, gently tugging his sleeve towards the living room. There was no coming back from this anymore. You were too tired of this whole situation and so was he, obviously, even though he seemed more denial. Your hands were sweaty as you looked pointedly in his cautious, yet sad eyes. You had no doubt now of who was Bucky anymore, not after this last nightmare, all your anger, blame and distrust gone, just a bottomless pit of pity and guilt towards the man whose soulmate was just a poor example of one. "Don't." He whispered ever so softly, word carrying a hundred of years of pain and insecurities, his eyes darting to Tony, who cleared his throat. 

"Finally having your 'soulmate talk'?" He quipped, brushing off the death glare from almost everyone in the room. "Good luck though, with Manchurian here, he might try to gut you later." He continued and looked rather coldly as Bucky quickly stomped out of the room. Anger flared inside you as a burning Sun, your quick steps towards Tony left everyone with hanging mouths. "You have no right to say that!" You seethed at older man, who was now looking at you with raised eyebrow, a move that normally made you smirk now pissing you off even more. "Considering he killed my parents and almost shot me in the face, I think I have all rights to say that." 

"You have no right to say that when you have no idea of how much guilt and pain he was in when he dreamt about that night. Not after he re-lives every goddamn thing they made him do in his dreams, not when you do not hear the pleas in he screams in his head!" You stepped back, not noticing Tony's eyes softening at the sight of your trembling form. "I witnessed all that since I was a baby, so don't you dare call him names, Stark." You growled as you sprinted out of the room, leaving the room in silence. 

"Bucky?" You called out, he was nowhere to be found in the living room, the door to the balcony opened. He stood outside, head hanging low, hands gripping the railing, his metal hand clearly bending the frail metal. 

He heard you behind him, you could tell from the way his whole body went stiff and so incredibly still, looking as a statue. "Bucky..." Sigh escaped your lips as he slowly turned around, not looking you in your eyes, staring somewhere above your head. Silence fell as both of you just stood there, your sudden confidence disappearing. 

"I underst-," he started and stopped, swallowing nervously he tried again. "I understand if you do not want to have anything to do with me." His words, pained, quiet and yet so loud in your ears shocked you, this was not what you expected to hear from him. 

"What?" You pushed out in tiny voice of disbelief. The look on his face told you the meaning behind his words, shame and guilt and disgust all over his handsome face, painting a dark shadow over it. "Are you kidding me right now?!" You rose your voice an octave, making Bucky flinch. "What does that mean?" You stepped towards him and your question tore down the wall Bucky laid down so carefully, as the words shot out of him in rapid fire. 

"You don't deserve somebody like me. What right do I have to be near you when only thing I can possibly give you are another nightmares, those visions of the brutalities I have done. Just pain, fear, guilt and shame of having no normal soulmate. My fuckedness is so strong that I haven't seen your dreams for years! If my nights are not filled with horrors of my sins, all I feel is another pain and just how hollow and weak I am and-Except those feelings are mine!" You screamed over him, shutting him up effectively. 

"Your nightmares are understandable, they made you do those things against your will. But those feelings, that emptiness and pain, those are mine. I should be your soulmate, the one that should give you the support, not make you feel all those useless feelings. How can you think of yourself as weak? After all you went through you are pushing through life while I tried to-" You stop yourself from saying those words, hands picking on the loose thread of the shirt's sleeves, made in a style of a fingerless gloves, hiding the hideous scars, a proof of your weakness. 

Bucky's eyes trailed down eyes wide with horror as he grasped the meaning behind your words. "You tried to-" He didn't finish the sentence as you clasped your hands over your ears, shaking your head slightly as you started to walk backwards, panic filling your eyes. You didn't want to tell him that piece of information, you didn't want him to know of the time when the depression got so bad it made you cut yourself, deep enough to put you in hospital. "Doll. Don't leave me. Not now." His desperate whisper stopped you, your cheeks covered in tears that now flew freely, tears you never planned on showing to world. 

"You deserve better." You whispered in broken voice. "You deserve a strong soulmate by your side, a soulmate that is not so weak, so pathetic, so stupid and naive and-" Your self-cussing was stopped as Bucky was suddenly in front of you, moving from his spot in a matter of a second, hands clasping your cheeks and lips planting on yours. His face was wet, stained by the tears he shed when looking at your frail form, his heart breaking at the sight. 

Kiss was a needy movements of lips, all years of loneliness, of pain and separation poured in that one moment. "You are none of that." Bucky whispered in your lips, planting one on your forehead, touch softer than a butterfly wings. "You are brave," another one, this time on your cheek, "beautiful," other cheek, "strong," each eyelid getting their own little love, fluttering close. "So kind and understanding." He looked you in the eyes, his blue orbs crystal clear, so honest it just made your tears flow faster. "You are everything and so much more. You are all I need and want, even though I don't deserve you." He softly caressed your cheeks, wiping away little droplets of salty water. Despite the people using him for horrible, dirty deeds, he was still able to open up, to love and trust, his soul so kind and bright he able to calm you, assure you and tell you what you needed to hear so much, while not asking anything back. 

Taking a step back, you pressed your palm on his chest, his heart beating just as fast as yours. “We are a pair of idiots, aren’t we?” You laughed, wiping your face. Bucky chuckled and pressed his hand on your cheek. His face looked calm but his eyes still held some of the pain and insecurity. 

“I,” you took a deep breath, thinking hard about your next words, “I’m not confident to be your support all the time. I, I have my own emotional luggage. There are days when I’m just a huge pain in the ass or I don’t even talk. But, I’m willing to try.” You said looking down, feeling of letting him down gnawing on your mind. Your eyes shot back up as a warm hand lifted your chin and Bucky kissed you again.

“You are not alone in this but, it takes two to tango, doll.” He smiled brightly, that face almost made your heart stop beating. “I really hope Nat won’t kill me when she sees your face, she is very protective of you.” He muttered as he pressed his forehead against yours.

“Right now,” you giggled, “I think Tony is the one in real danger. Shall we save him?” You asked and laughed out as Bucky picked you up and buried your face in your chest, shaking his head while his eyes looked in yours, drowning you in love. “I will leave it to Steve today.”

“Okay Red, you can let me go now, my role as an asshole is over.” Tony said, tapping Natasha’s arm that was wrapped around his neck, keeping him bowed down. All Avengers were standing in the living room, looking through glass at you and Bucky talk and hug, being the overprotective family as always. “Don’t look at me like that, Rogers. A soulmate that doesn’t defend their other half is a bitchy thing. I wouldn’t wish that to Snow White.”

The End